//------------------------------//
// Tiny Daggers 
// Story: Quoth the Raven 
// by midworld1999 
//------------------------------//

	They say you're never lonely. They say you're with the best, but when they turn those lights out, I bet you spin and turn, and cry just like the rest, and cry just like a baby. 





That was how the city guards found me. Sobbing into Lenore, with the body of the bastard who'd killed her sprawled out next to me. I was covered with their blood.

I was taken away. I didn't struggle. My world had shattered, and all resolve had shattered with it.

I remember being put in a jail cell for a couple of days, while they decided what to do with me. While I was incarcerated, I was attacked and ravaged by the cell's other occupants. I suppose this probably would have happened under normal circumstances. It was a place ruled by hardened criminals, murders and rapists. The fact that I was of an abhorred race must've made me a particularly tasty chunk of fresh meat.

They beat me into an inch of my life. They raped me. They spit and pissed on me while I lie beaten and violated, defenseless, on the floor. I didn't fight back. I didn't care.

After a few days in that hell, I was introduced to a new one. The guards decided to put me in the hole for six months. I suppose they thought being beaten and raped to death in a cell would be too quick a punishment. The hole would provide the torture of isolation and a slow death, for I would almost certainly die. In a sense, I was digging my own grave.

I was given a shovel and ten hours to dig. Guards watched, laughed, and taunted as I created my own prison, and what they thought would be my final resting place. My body and spirit were already severely battered, and digging the hole took all of the energy I had left.

Even so, all the time I was digging, the only thing I could think of was what they'd done with Lenore's body. Buried it? Not likely. They'd probably burned her, or else just tossed her in the garbage. They would waste no effort disposing of the nameless corpse of some "griffoness slut". It made me sick to think that her final resting place might be among the filth.

When the ten hours were up, I'd dug a hole about seven hooves deep. The diameter was barely enough for me to lie down. When I turned to my guards, they wrenched my shovel away from me and used it to bring a heavy blow down on my head.

When I woke up, I was at the bottom of my self made prison with nothing but a bucket. A slab of rock had been pushed over top of the crevice. There was a small gap for air and throwing down food.

The bucket was attached a length of rope that reached out of the gap. At the bottom of the bucket was a note that read: For water and bringing up shit. I was to use the same bucket for both.

I found another valuable service for the bucket as well. When it rained, I had to flutter up to the gap and bail out water. Many times I was tempted to the let myself drown, but my instinct always took over before it could happen. It once down-poured for three days straight, and I had to bail out water without rest. At the end of that ordeal, I slept for at least two days straight. If the rain had gone on for a fourth day, I don't know what would have happened.

The cell confined my limbs to uncomfortable positions. This may seem like a meager complaint, but when hours turn into days and days turn into weeks, trivial things can gain weight. My muscles screamed to move, wings ached to soar, my joints roared for that heavenly crackle from full extension. My body was limited by the constraining earth.

I was thrown down scraps of fruits and vegetables about once every three days or so. Since I was half pony, I could digest these okay, and get some energy, but all it did was sustain me. I needed meat for true sustenance. I grew thin from undernourishment, barely able to do more than think. My body grew thinner and sicklier as the weeks passed, to the point where every rib was visible. 

Most of the time I spent in my personal cave was in near darkness. A solitary beam of sunlight entered my cell around midday for about an hour , and a moonbeam found its way in around midnight, but other than that, I lived in a world of black.

At least I did at first. After a week or two (I lost track of the days), my eyes adjusted and I could see the cell clearly even in the absence of light. I began to scorn the daylight; it blinded me and scathed my eyes, became my daily tormentor. The moonlight, in its gentler shine, became my nightly companion.

But the worst part about being in the cell wasn't the cramped space. It wasn't the food. It wasn't the darkness or the hateful daylight. It was the guilt and the grief. Time is unreliable, bends and stretches at its own discretion, when you've got nothing to pace yourself by.

For all the time I was down there, my only companionship was my own thoughts. My thoughts were not pleasant company. Grief over Lenore's death berated me constantly. In hindsight, the signs of something gone awry with my friend were painfully clear. Her reluctance to talk about her job, her insistence that I stay away from the shack at night, all those little signs should've tipped me off. Looking back, I felt I could have done something to stop Lenore's ultimate fate. These thoughts tortured me.

Guilt also came from a less predictable source; the stallion I had killed. It wasn't so much the killing itself. I couldn't see any way around that, and the bastard surely deserved to die. No, what haunted me was the feeling of exhilaration, the surge of unmistakable rightness, that this was what I meant for. I felt a rush of adrenaline, felt ready to take on an army, felt that I could slaughter thousands, happily. In that split second, I felt all that, and I felt fantastic. I could not deny this. It terrified me.

With such awful conditions, both mental and physical, one must wonder how I escaped, for if I had stayed the whole six months, I have little doubt I would have died or gone insane. A terrible, but true, fact of life is that the only emotion with more raw power than grief or guilt is boredom.

Like I said, time passes slowly when you have nothing to measure it. It's a malleable thing. I would later find out I was in my cell for six weeks. It felt like years. Considering this, it wasn't long before I grew bored, even in my intense self loathing. In my efforts to fend off the doldrums, my grief was broken and I found my escape.





It started with a small slab of rock. I was bored, and figured I may as well do something to pass the tedious time away. I used my sharp claws to scritch random doodles into the stone. I drew stick figures of ponies, griffons, random curves and designs, whatever came to mind.

Over the weeks, I continued my etched out "artworks", digging new stones out with my claws. My carvings became less sketchy, had fewer and fewer mistakes each time. With nothing else to focus on, I spent all of my energy (what little I had) making the drawings as perfect as possible.

One day, something new happened. I was carving into a stone, like usual. I was completely focused on my task, carving intricate, flowing designs into the rock. I became so engrossed in my work that I became unfocused on a conscious level. I was paying no conscious attention to what I was carving. But at the same time I was paying attention, and working with a purpose. Thinking and not thinking at the same time. I think Lenore may have done something similar when she jokered and channeled her nighttime songs.

I had carved so many stones, put so much effort into what I was doing, that my subconscious mind was able to take over, working with more precision and accuracy than I could ever muster. My claws flew across the stone of their accord, drawing what they wanted, what I needed. I had hypnotized myself, or something of that nature.

Once I was finished, I just sat still for a time, still in auto-hypnosis. After some period of time, I came to, suddenly conscious after working for hours on... what? When I looked down at what I had made, I let out a choked cry of shock. 

The design was glowing. The intricate curves, flowing lines, every indent was lit by a pale blue glow, beams of light shooting out. After spending so much time in the darkness, I had to squint to see what I had created.

I grasped the shining stone a bit tighter in my claw on instinct, and yelped in pain. It's a good thing I didn't hold it too tightly, or I would have taken my fingers off. The stone's edges had become impossibly sharp, leaving impressive gashes in my palms. I let the stone fall to the ground, where it stopped glowing.

I took quick stock of my injuries. The cuts were shallow, and although they bled profusely, I thought they'd heal without much trouble.

I turned my attention back to the stone. I picked it up, carefully ran a talon along the edge. It was no sharper than a stone ought to be.

Questions whirled through my head. What the hell had happened? Where had the energy come from, how had it manifested into something sharp? What did the designs I'd cut into the stone have to do with it? Why were they glowing?

Cogs began to turn in my mind. Slowly, I made the connections. Somehow, I had made a rune without even realizing it. That was the only explanation that made sense to me. Runes were often used in complex spells, channeling a unicorn's energy into pre-prepared side-spells that took less concentration, which might be necessary to augment the primary spell, where the bulk of the unicorn's focus was.

That explained the glowing designs. I'd made a some sort of new rune that work independent of a spell, subconsciously given myself a tool when I needed most. Maybe runes were a part of everypony's subconscious, and we just needed something to unlock them. At least that's what I thought at the time. The true answer of where my runes came from would be much stranger, and make itself clear later.

Still, that left one major question unanswered. Where had the energy for the rune come from? This took me longer to figure out, but eventually it hit me. The ambient magic! The Ambiance Theory was correct. Magic was thick in the air, and my rune had yanked it out and used it, just like a unicorn could do naturally! It acted as both a siphon for the magic and as a way to direct it! My mind acted as a bridge between the energy and rune-spell itself. Think of how this could change lives everywhere, make everything easier, make–

Then reality smacked me in the face. I was down in a seven foot hole. Even if I pleaded with the guards, told them what I'd accomplished, they'd just think I was insane. Besides, what would I want to give this new magic to ponies for? They were the ones who'd put me down here in the first place! Fuck them!

With that sudden flare of temporary rage, my resolve returned. I was ready to escape.

I picked up the stone a tried to concentrate. I made sure to grip the rock lightly, so as not to cut myself again. After a few minutes, the stone began to shine. I flew up the boulder that was the ceiling and thrust the rock in, hoping to cut through it to my freedom. Naturally, a new problem presented itself.

The stone was too small. Simple as that. The stone was jammed all the way into the boulder, and since I couldn't reach it, it was stuck.

I think that was the closest to insanity I ever got while in the hole. Having such a promising hope, having my resolve restored, having a means to escape my horrible fate, then having it snatched away without mercy, drove me mad with rage. I clawed at the ground, screeched and sobbed at the unfairness of it, scrabbled at the small hole for air in a vain attempt at reaching the surface.

After a few minutes of this distress, I managed to bring myself back under control. I thought carefully about the situation. The next step was deceptive in how obvious it was. Just make a new rune. I thought I could achieve a similar state of self induced hypnosis if given enough time, and I had nothing but time!

As I began to relax and clear my mind, another problem struck me. None of the stones down here were long enough to cut all the way through the boulder. The stones were inches long, but the boulder blocking my exit might be whole hooves thick! I needed something else, something longer to cut with.

But there was nothing down here but me and my stones! I had nothing to work with! I was still trapped. Still all alone, in the dark, kept prisoner in the earth. There was nothing down here that could help me cut all the way through the boulder. Just me. Just-

Me. Me! Of course, how could I have been so stupid! I could use my own body to harness the runes! My wings were easily long enough to make it through whatever size boulder was constricting me. My body acting as the siphon for the magic, the director of its energy, and the consciousness allowing it to happen. It was perfect, genius! Just draw the runes on my wings and I could slice through the rock with them in ten seconds flat.

All I needed now was something to inscribe the runes with. My gaze fell on my palms, still dripping from when I'd cut myself. Blood would do just fine.

I had researched the magical properties of blood, and remembered that using blood for runes established the most permanent connections. Using blood required less effort on the caster's part when consciously using the rune and provided permanent runes, which could be used as many times as the caster chose. Using my own blood would also make the rune even stronger.

I dug a shallow dip in the floor of my prison. I dipped my talons into the gaping wounds of my palms, hissing in pain as I did so. An involuntary tear of pain slid out of my eye, but I remained resolute. I drained the blood into the hole, creating a puddle to take my paint from. Once I felt I had enough, I dunked the tips of my talons into the blood, placed them on the underside of my wing, and waited. I was patient, willing to give the process as much time as needed.

It's hard to remember exactly when I began to paint my designs again, but it happened. My unconscious seemingly took over once more, providing me with the tools necessary for my escape. Serenity filled me, and I let whatever force was creating the runes have its way with me.

When I awoke, I surprised to have decorated both of my wings with the symbols. I could feel the now cool blood wetting my wings. I had only meant to do one wing. I wondered what could have prompted this extraneous effort, but dismissed the thoughts quickly. I had what I needed. Little did I know how invaluable this tool set would be soon.

I wanted to immediately try out my new spell (it gave me joy just to be able to perform a spell), but opted to wait for two reasons. One, The blood needed to dry. Who knew what might happen if rune the changed mid-spell? In addition, I had the foresight to wait for sunset, so it would be easier for my eyes to adjust to the world above.

I relaxed and decided to get some much needed sleep. I'd need as much as energy as I could spare once I was out. It was the first good rest I'd gotten in weeks.

After a few hours recuperating, I woke to find the meager sunlight that reached my cell fading. I checked my wings, and the blood was dry. I was ready. I flapped up to the ceiling, clenched my eyes shut in concentration. After a moment, my wingtips began to tingle. I could feel, feel, energy zipping through my feathers.

I opened my eyes, and found the edges of each individual feather glowing. The span of each wing looked like it was made up of hundreds of gleaming arrowheads. The intricate symbols I'd drawn were glowing on the underside of each wing, where I had etched them. The effect mesmerized me.

I took an experimental slash at the air. I beheld a swift blur of light dance in front of face, accompanied by a high pitched whine as the infinitesimally sharp wing seemed to literally slice through the dark.

After a few more slashes, I got down to business. Without hesitation, I arced my wings up into the stone above me. I grinned at the dull sound of the rock separating. Cutting through rock was just as easy as swishing through the air. I took a couple more swipes at the once mighty boulder from different angles, and within seconds chunks of split rock were tumbling down past me. I was almost struck by a few larger pieces, but managed to dodge away. I watched with satisfaction as the barrier between myself and the world crumbled.

Once the boulder had a wide enough gap, I wriggled out into the night. A full moon greeted me, a greeting I returned by stretching my wings. I savored the crackle my joints made once they were extended, a pleasant pain as I was reunited with full mobility.

My feathers still glowing (as I hadn't consciously stopped casting my rune), I took to the sky, sweeping and diving through the airspace above my former prison. I was free!

"Hey!"

I glanced down, saw a pegasus guard below taking off after me. He must have been on patrol or something, since I was pretty sure they didn't post anypony to my cell. Just bad timing.

I raced away without hesitation. I wasn't going to be caught again! Not after just seconds of freedom.

I was still exhausted from my time in the hole. While down there, I'd had no means of exercise, hardly any food. I was going as fast and as hard as I could, but the guard was gaining fast. In addition, my lighted wings must have me an easy target. I was so panicked I forgot to turn them off. The guard hadn't bothered to call for any assistance. That was one small blessing. He probably figured I was weak and he could take me by himself no problem.

After only two minutes of chase, we were neck and neck. Before I could duck away, he tackled me to the ground. We hit hard, and my already emaciated body crumpled in new pain.

The guard, who had fallen a few hooves away, recovered quickly and raced over to where I had landed, looming over me. He brought up his hoof to strike a me, and I extended my wing to protect my body from further damage. When his hoof began to rush down, a closed my in anticipation of the coming pain.

The pain never came. Instead, I felt something warm and wet surround my wing, then wrench away. The guard shrieked. I opened my eyes and joined him.

The pegasus stallion's entire foreleg had been split cleanly down the middle. Blood, tendon, bits of shattered bone, all seemed held in stasis for a few moments, still suspended in a gruesome cross section of his leg. Then they poured out, spraying red 

crimson red like the terrible eternal gaze of an insane king on his throne of skulls a king who wants to bring every world every world every world to its knees

all over the ground.

His screaming came to an abrupt stop, and the guard fainted. I rushed to his side, checked for any signs of life. I put a talon over his mouth and felt ragged breathing. He was alive. He might need a wooden leg for the rest of his life, but he was alive and breathing for now.

Our shouts of terror had not gone unnoticed. In the distance, I heard voices getting closer. I hesitated a moment, not wanting to abandon the soldier who'd only been doing his job. Then I thought about it and decided to leave. Me staying might prolong his getting medical attention, and there was nothing I could do by staying but get captured or wounding, killing, even more ponies.

I took wing and fled the city, tears almost blinding me as I went. I didn't look back to see if anypony was giving chase, I just focused on flying as fast and far away as possible. I think I went about twenty minutes before landing, if you could even call it that. It was more like a controlled collapse.

I made myself get up and find shelter, a small den in the base of a dead tree. I tried to fall asleep, but was kept awake by the gravity of actions. I had only meant for the rune to be a tool, a tool for escape. Within moments of escape, my tool turned into a weapon. I had turned myself into a weapon, a sheath filled with thousands of tiny daggers.

I was disgusted with what I had become, what I had made myself, a tool for destruction, destruction of the most precious thing imaginable: life. I had been so caught up in the rune I pretentiously thought I had created, I hadn't even considered there might be a price. The responsibility of such a powerful tool was clearly beyond me. I might have killed somepony tonight, taken yet another life, this one even more innocent than the last.

Even if it had been an accident, I hadn't been careful enough. Whether I'd meant for his death or not didn't matter. Because I'd still felt the rush, the feeling of undeniable, horrible joy as I maimed the innocent. A creature that obtained such mirth from misery shouldn't be allowed to live.

I was tempted to end it all right there. Just raise my wing, still glowing, to my neck, and give a slight twitch. That's all it would take, a twitch. I was guilty, and it was no less than I deserved. I managed to bring my shining tools of murder up to chest, up to shoulders, up to my neck. Then, before I could bring about the twitch to end it all, I lost my nerve. I turned the rune off. I couldn't muster the courage to do it. I was a coward as well as a killer.

My mood descended even further when I noticed the fresh brand on my flank. A cutie mark, a curving white line silhouetting a feather. I hadn't even known was capable of getting one, and the one I received represented the tools of destruction I'd created. The thing I was best for was bringing death.

I decided what to do next right then and there. If I couldn't carry out my punishment, I would do next best thing; make myself scarce. I considered returning to the city and turning myself in, but I didn't trust myself not to escape. The hole had been hell, and I had no desire to return to it or whatever other torture they came up with. Again, I scolded myself for a coward.

I would find a secluded place in the wilderness, and live there. Away from anypony else I might harm. I would learn to control myself and my new-found ability, figure out ways that it could be helpful. With these pinpricks of hope floating in mind, I managed to fall asleep, already exhausted by the night's proceedings.





For awhile, my plan worked.

I found a spacious cave that served me well for a residence. I was shielded from the rain, wind and other elements. I disguised the place with branches and boulders, so it would look uninhabited. I could slumber in safety. 

The survival skills Lenore taught me on the way to Plateau City came in handy while I struck out on my own. I made a bed using the same type of leaves Lenore had used when we traveled, and I was comfortable enough. I burned the firewood of trees that Lenore told me made less smoke. I hunted using the techniques Lenore showed me. My entire life in the forest was facilitated by her teachings.

When I wasn't busy doing business necessary for survival, I was practicing with my runes. I say runes because during the months of hiding, I discovered several new ones to go along with my wing blades, utilizing the same method of self hypnosis to find and create them. Most of them happened by accident, I would be doing something when all of a sudden I'd fall into the hypnosis. Usually the rune ended up helping me with whatever I was doing, so I told myself it was my subconscious doing its work again. It never crossed my mind that somepony (or something) else might be helping me along for its own purpose.

The first was the rune of organic time reversal, which I painted onto my palms (you witnessed them when I rectified Ms. Dash's injuries). It had to be applied quickly to work properly, but completely restored whatever it was used on. It was best used for healing. I also found a rune for far sight, allowing for augmented vision. I could only use it in short spurts, or else risk eye damage, but it proved useful for observing many things over long distances in a short period. Although I discovered invisibility and sound muffling separately, I generally used them at the same time, almost as one rune. Utilizing techniques from these runes, I also figured out how to mute the glowing created when I used any of my runes, so that I could disguise the fact that I could even use runes when it became necessary.

I spent most of my time finding ways to use my abilities constructively. I used my wing blades to chop through dense foliage, firewood, and (taking care to clean my wings beforehoof) for cooking. My far sight was useful for scouting out land for hunting and for snoopy ponies who might get too close, so I could avoid them when they came by. Invisibility and muffling were also useful for this, as well as hunting more effectively. Healing was good for ridding myself of bothersome scratches and bruises that were usually inevitable when living in the woods. I also trained myself to turn my runes on and off quickly, almost to the point of instinct.

Still, in the back of my mind, I always thought of how these powers could be used dangerously. Wing blades would be used for battle. Far sight could augment reaction time in soldiers. Invisibility and muffling could be utilized in espionage. Even the supposedly beneficial healing rune could help send ponies back into battle faster, only to wreak more bloodshed. No matter how much I tried to push these ideas away, they were always playing Discord's advocate somewhere deep in my thoughts.

Once I grew comfortable enough with my cloaking abilities, I began going on nighttime excursions to the city to pick up books on magic, generally from vendors, unicorn scholars, and private collectors. While the selection wasn't nearly as wide as that of Plateau City, it satisfied my appetite for new knowledge. I hoped to someday break into the magical community with my discoveries, and if I was to have any hope of having my work taken seriously, I needed to keep my studies as broad and current as possible. I was also always careful to remember where I took the books from so I could return them when I was finished. It would be an insult to Lenore's memory to steal from those who needed the books. I only borrowed.

Yes, I spent all the time I could spare on improving the abilities which I'd been either blessed or cursed with (I've still yet to decide which) and learning as much as I could from the limited resources I possessed. Even with these obstacles, I managed to keep my knowledge up to date and sharp, and kept my powers honed even sharper. I didn't want to risk another accident from my potentially lethal clumsiness. I also made sure to study my unique runes themselves, observe everything I could about them

Everything was going about as smoothly as could be expected.

My next step was to compile my findings. Bring together all the information I'd discovered concerning the Ambiance Theory and my runes into a paper, then find an institution where I could submit and publish my work anonymously. I doubted that any respected magical authority would be willing to publish something written by a hippogriff, and the public would probably be hard pressed to see anything discovered by a half-griffon as credible. Still, I could make a difference for the better, trust ponies to use my findings for the right reasons.

That would have been my next step, anyway. Until the recruiters showed up.