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- >You are Spymaster Blackimus Magus Bobimus of the Roma Nova Empire.
- >Bob for short.
- >With great cunning and general sneakiness, you have risen in power to your current position.
- >Knowledge is power, and you shall forever continue to arm yourself, and your Empire.
- >No cost can ever be too great. The Empire must last forever, and your legacy with it.
- >Your network of spies constantly feeds you information, and your ability to gather such informants has never failed.
- >Even here, in the land of Equestria, the disgruntled, dis-empowered members of both the elite ruling class and the peasantry thirst for power.
- >The Diarchs of this land may believe that their people are satisfied, but you know the truth.
- >You just can't please everybody.
- >As you enter your office on the Luxuria, a wobbling, shaking, arcane box catches your eye.
- “Ah shit. I told those damn ponies not to overload the box.”
- >You sprint to the box, pressing your fingers to latch and pointing the lid away from yourself.
- >At once, the box springs open, dozens of tomes flying into your office.
- >The flow of tomes slows, and eventually stops.
- “This...will take some time. I hope that idiot Blueblood at least remembered to annotate the important bits.”
- >As you inspect the books across the floor, bright tabs seem to stick out from most of them.
- >With a sigh, you pick up the first one and begin to flip through it.
- “Physiology. Time to make piles. I guess I'll throw the books for Caseus in this corner...”
- >With a careless toss, you send the book away from the others.
- “Herbology. Aether's pile will go over there.”
- >Another toss.
- >Skimming through a third you pause as realization dawns upon you.
- “This...is a goddamn cookbook!”
- >This one gets tossed over your shoulder as you dig through more and more.
- >More piles are formed, information for your “brothers”.
- >Finally, only one book remains.
- “Another fucking cookbook.”
- >You close it in disgust, and stare at the cover with simmering fury.
- >Thirty damn cookbooks in all.
- >All written by some moron named Starswirl the Bearded.
- >Wait. Where had you heard that name before?
- >Quickly, you dig through one of the piles you made, before pulling up a text claiming to be a history of great magicians in this world.
- >Sure enough, this Starswirl had whole chapters to his name.
- >You dig through all of the texts, noticing that each one was hand-written, and all bore the name of the same author.
- >A quick call over the intercom to your grunts on the ship, and the other piles are sent to your prime subordinates for perusal while you gather you new project together.
- “Clever little pony. I have your number now, though.”
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