Chapter VI
Slaves to the Past
"Those who do not learn from the past are condemned to repeat it."

The wasteland was a beautiful place, full of color and diverse landscapes. It was a place of excitement, good and bad; really, not a single day could be boring if only one stepped out of the safety of shelter. Whether that's a foolish act or an adventurous one is up for debate. But the only certainty is that there is an infinite amount of things about the great world outside to appreciate, and to fear. But why focus on the bad? Why highlight the bleakness when you can focus on the bright, sunny, and radiant?

Well, aside from the negatives being an apparently near-constant threat to your life and thus a fundamentally integral part of the wasteland, the answer was simple: because the bright, sunny, radiant side of things was fucking hot.

"How the hell did I not think to drink up before leaving that damned river..." I panted, my tongue lolling out as we trekked along the blistering, cracking land. The radiance of the sun was a sweat-inducing, grime-forming nuisance. "Worst mistake I've made today," I grumbled, especially irritated at how Vox himself did not seem fazed by the heat at all. In fact he didn't care much about my plight; he was lost in his own 'problems'.

"These shrubs disturb Vox Populi," he declared, imperiously gesturing to a pile of dead plants as we trotted along. Above us, an eagle sang its majestic note across the sky. The sound did two things: one, it compounded the feeling of how utterly blasted and barren the landscape was; two, it sparked a great envy in me that such creatures could fly and escape this parched land, while I could not. "They stay still, swaying only to the breeze. In Vox Populi's plane they morph ever-constantly, looking like the disturbed reflection of water. And the ground... it forever possess the imprint of all who walk it. This world is so... solid. Reactionary, but with logic."

With a grin he said aloud, "I like it!"

"Well, I'm so glad you do," I said with mock cheerfulness, then let out a hot huff of air as I licked my chapped lips and wiped my brow. Forget letting my frustration out on him. I needed water and shade, fast. It'd only been fifteen minutes since we left the bridge behind, and already my dehydrated and sore body demanded a rest, and no force of will would make it allow me to abuse it further. "S-stop."

I ceased trotting, sweat cascading down every inch of my body and landing on the dry earth beneath me. Somehow I had the feeling my perspiration was the most moisture the soil had had in a long time. Vox stopped as well and turned, eyeing me confusedly.

"Stop? Why?" he asked, then glanced behind him at the miles of open, blistering field. "We have not yet annihilated the scum who captured your companions. Does the urgency of your goal and the fleetingness of their lives not compel you to stride ever on?"

"Yes, yes, of course they do," I replied, swallowing down the last of my saliva to ease my parched throat. "But I can't do anything if I'm dead." I looked up and around, panting for breath and feeling the precious water leaving my body in ticklish, salty drops. "Water... need water... and shade..."

He rolled his eyes and sat plainly on the burning sand. "Very well. We shall stop here and drink the earth and turn the light of the sun into blackness. Then when we've rested enough we may invoke spirits to put life once more into the bodies of your dead comrades." Shaking his head, he muttered, "Such weakness..."

I growled under my breath, but took the opportunity to rest however I could. My legs screamed in burning agony as I bent them to lay beneath the relative shade of a dead bush. The underside of my body was coated with searing sand as my sweat matted them to me, but it was better than completely exposing myself to the radiance of the sun.

Looking at me in my state of dehydrated weakness, he said, "You confuse Vox Populi. You go through much to earn freedom, yet now that you have it you bend to such forces as light and heat? They are mere elements of this strange plane. Vox Populi was lead to believe the sentients of this realm have mastered the art of science -- that is, they have learned to control such nuisances. Yet here you are, testimony to the weaknesses of your body as it is assaulted by nature."

I let out a ragged, high-strung laugh. "Good gods. Now I see why my friends tell me to tone down my vocabulary. If this is actually what I sound like to them, I suppose I really should." I sighed and breathed deep, drawing my limbs into the shade to escape the heat. "Look, I don't know why you're not thirsting for water or groaning in pain after how hard I hit you, but I am thirsty. I am in pain. It's strange that you feel neither." As I said this, I realized everything about Vox Populi, from the way he spoke to the way he looked, was peculiar. I supposed if I just labeled him as 'crazy' and left it at that, I'd not mind any of it. But he just didn’t seem like the typical lunatic. Maybe he wasn't where he came from.

"Where are you from?" I asked, looking right at him. "You speak of this world as if you're not from it. Strange bushes and odd soil... what?"

He shrugged. "'Tis a topic not so important. There are other things that require my thought aside from explaining it to you creatures." But after a moment he added with a drawl, "I would, however, concede to speaking of it if you believe in different planes of creation. Such belief would remove much of the tedious explanation required otherwise."

"You mean... like the spirit-world and Tartarus and the like?" I asked, and he nodded. "Well a philosopher's mind should be open. I consider myself one, if only because I've been called that. But to cut it short... no, not really. Not in the sense that they're above reason and logic. Me, I like to think that all 'ghosts' and 'specters' and 'gods' and the like all have some reason behind them. That they're simply phenomena that we've yet to understand."

"Hmm. Phenomena." He squinted. "It's an odd word, when Vox Populi listens to it. All sounds created by this fleshy throat is strange to me. Phe-no-me-na: 'an fact or situation that is observed to have happened or exist'. Does that not make you and Vox Populi phenomena, then? It is a fact that we exist, and it is a fact that we collided into one another. Therefore, I conclude that we, and all that occurs to us, are just phenomena."

"I suppose," I replied with a shrug. "What are you getting at?"

His expression hardened, his brows furrowing as he said in a lecturing tone, "Existence is a phenomenon. Vox Populi is. You are -- and so are all things. Does that not seem to connect them together, somehow? Amidst the obvious differences between rage and joy, black and white, life and death, is that not a binding factor?"

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"It is," he insisted, drawing close and continuing with utter surety, "All things are connected on a deeper level of existence. Have no doubt about that. Now, what if I told you that this deeper plane, this progenitor realm from which the fundamentals of all creation are derived, exists all around you? That within it, all things are brought into being by thought, and not by any physical process? That all things manifest an idea or concept? For example: Honor. Greed. Vengeance. And, like myself, Justice."

I rose an eyebrow and stayed silent for a long moment. "Okay. I can understand the whole 'voice of the people' thing as maybe the product of some psychological or societal... condition. But are you really suggesting that you're the incarnation of Justice itself?"

He nodded. "A incarnation of Justice, yes. Vox Populi walks this world with righteous intent."

I stared forward flatly, not for a single second believing it. He was no bloodthirsty raider or some other savage, which was good. But why, out of all the many people, in the wasteland, was the first non-hostile wastelander I met a disillusioned lunatic?

"Well then, I'm glad to have such a feared and righteous being like you in my company," I intoned, rolling my eyes.

The intended sarcasm wasn't noticed. Instead, he grinned. "Good! With your help, Vox Populi may yet cleanse this world of its scum before seeking out the foul abomination from whose corroded mind my essence was born." Clopping his hooves together and then laying his chin onto them, he added in a mutter, "First, we shall rescue his comrades. Then perhaps set off for... somewhere. His destination, perhaps? Gah, the need to name places here vexes me terribly."

I shook my head, but couldn't help smiling. Lunatic or no, at least he babbled of good things, just things. Better still, he had at least some sophistication and intellect that I could relate to. It indicated at least some vestige of sanity, and it gave me hope that maybe we could actually find the others and rescue them. Because if we didn't, then I'd have no means to achieve my goal. I would wander the world, useless and without direction, unable to return home out of shame. A fate I hoped no one would ever go through.

We spent the next few minutes there, and he meditated while I rested in the shade. He sat still, eyes closed and with forehooves rubbing the earth below him in little circles. Occasionally, he would scoop up some sand and rub it into his hooves. Every now and then his eyes would twitch. Sometimes his ears would flatten. But he kept humming a soft tune -- simple yet filled with a deep emotion that that tensed his facial muscles to a scowl. He breathed a great inhale and a gust of cool air rushed by, to my surprise. The sun was gone, hidden behind dark clouds as a frightening rumble echoed across the heavens. In the distance behind us, a jagged white light tore the sky asunder, then disappeared almost instantly. What followed was a splitting crack that had me jerk onto my hooves, breathing deep.

"Hold on," he said, eyebrows furrowing. "Let the rain come."

As if on cue I felt moisture on my body as tiny droplets floated down onto me, encasing me in a beady coat of water. Then came another gust of cold wind, and with it an outright downpour of water that soaked me from head to hoof instantly. My mane was matted down, my tail stuck against my rear as the deluge poured over me. I could see nothing with my mane in my eyes, but it didn't matter. I was laughing like a fool, my entire body rejoicing as my mouth opened up to the heavens and drank its fill. The waters of life drenched the drylands and nourished me, and for many moments I couldn't have cared for anything else as I jumped and shouted for joy.

"The storms send their regards," Vox shouted over the downpour. Then he glanced off behind him, at the rainy fog that'd once been nothing but miles of scorched earth. He turned back to me, his body unsoaked save for a glistening coat and a damp mane. "I think it's best we hurry before their term passes. It's not in a storm's nature to just come on a whim like this, at least not in your world."

I ceased my celebration, my smile fading as I took in exactly what'd just happened. This zony had just summoned rain. Whether or not it was a coincidence didn't matter much; he sure as Tartarus looked like he'd summoned it. And like his resistance to the heat, he seemed almost unaffected by the deluge. Lunatic or no, all the phenomena pointed to the possibility that he was what he said he was: a spirit, an ethereal being.

Well, we do live in a world filled with magic, a voice in my head mused, and I swear I could hear it humming to itself in skeptical thought. Magic exists all around you. Three of your fellow guards were fire-wielding unicorns! Voxy here isn't so improbable. Why not believe in it?

I found myself inclined to the logic. Though I liked to believe that the magic within the world simply required more study to explain scientifically, there was no doubting its existence. It was a witnessed occurrence and widely-known to be real. The ponies claimed that the sun and moon rose and fall at their princesses' wills. Zebra travelers' accounts of the few times Discord escaped his stony prison were archived in every major history book I'd ever read. Indeed, why not believe Vox Populi was what he claimed? Why not believe that he was a representation of the mysteries science had yet to unfold?

My train of thought was shattered by a mighty boom in the clouds above. I shook my head, flailing water everywhere, and nodded vigorously. "Alright then. Let us press on!" I shouted, brushing my mane out of my eyes and gesturing towards the direction we'd been heading.

With his own nod, Vox Populi turned and galloped forward. I followed closely behind him, fighting the currents of the wind as they sent sheets of water slapping against me. We climbed muddy hills and splashed across fields of water, all the while we were shrouded and distorted by the rain. My centuria urbanae training found use in supplying me with the necessary stamina to keep up. The cold was a nice change, and comforted me all throughout our long journey.

It must have been an hour's gallop and canter, but eventually the rain and the wind lightened. Then it ceased altogether, the sky gloomy as the clouds passed by quickly overhead, rumbling with thunder and illuminated by the occasional bolt of lightning. My body dripped with water that stuck irritating grains of sand to me as the land we trotted over gradually turned drier. Soon it was the same as before the deluge: scorching and arid, with a dishearteningly huge and empty space in front of us to scour for my captured companions.

But we didn't stop. No, my body had numbed my soreness and so long as my wings were folded, they did not bother me. I'd drank enough to not thirst, and I could follow Vox for quite a while yet. And as we cantered along, he drew my attention over to a hill off in the distance. "We shall proceed thither. We will require a view of the area before we can resume our noble rescue."

I panted and nodded, following him as he aligned our course towards the hill.

"Remarkable," Vox commented, his gaze looking over the barren lands with its dead bushes and cracked soil. A faint smile crossed his lips. "Vox Populi has said it many times, but he feels that a few instances of admiration do little justice to the strange beauty of this place. This world is so much simpler than the one Vox Populi belongs to. Easier to manipulate, yet somehow more static and unchanging. Its inhabitants are beings of little consequence, yet they find meaning in their menial existence. Order reigns here. There is peace, to some extent. Conflicts of essence are small and temporary. 'Tis a world filled with beauty, so common that the beauty may go overlooked..."

I gazed out over the landscape as well; the sun was starting to set now, and while I'd only seen its glowing orb since a few days back, I could tell it would begin to darken in a few hours. Then reacting to Vox's comments I shrugged, "I suppose. It is quite a sight, much more diverse and colorful than the polished silver and isolated greens and reds of my home." I frowned, looking down. "I too find it worth admiring. Out here is where the fortunes of the world are decided, and that alone makes me embrace it, despite what danger it may harbor. But it's a shame most others don't see it the same way. They don't see that life out here can be wondrous if they just worked to make it so."

Vox looked to me, eyes confused. "These others, from your... your 'home'," he said, the last word uttered with a twinge of naivety, "They do not think like you? But you lived with them, yes? They were subjected to the same events that shaped you. Why do they not think as you do?"

I shrugged again. "I don't know. I've always been a bit different." I looked him right in the eye, wondering if he could be trusted to know what'd happened to me since our door was yanked down, days ago. It wasn't like it'd make much difference if he knew of my Stable; the tribals in Apollania did, and I doubted Vox could be as dangerous as any one of them (Unless he is what he says he is, chimed in a little voice in my head. Honestly, the fact that I even had a 'little voice' in me was a bit disconcerting.)

Before he could make any comment, I asked, "Can I trust you?"

The question must have struck him as incredibly silly, for he recoiled with a wry smirk. "Of course the crimson pony can trust Vox Populi! What manner of prattle is a question such as that?"

"Alright, alright," I cut in, stopping him before he expressed his irritation further. "I was just asking because... well, I'd like to tell you something. And you can tell me what you think of it afterwards. It'd be nice to have an opinion from someone completely isolated from what happened."

He sat down. "Vox Populi senses a tale, no doubt one of righteous valor and courage! But if not that, then one of tedious mortal squabbles and inconsequential nonsense. My opinion shall be either of the two, and nothing else."

I rolled my eyes. "Right then. Can I expect you to tell me of your own life afterwards? If we'll be traveling together for who knows how long, I feel that we should be able to understand one another." That was what I said, of course, and my intent was true. I wanted us to be able to understand each other. But another side of me was genuinely curious to hear Vox's story from his own mouth.

He nodded. "It is only fair that Vox Populi does so."

"Good." I sat, and with a breath I thought on how to begin. Then the words flowed out, and the tale went on naturally.

I told him everything.

"Mhmm, so that is the story behind your current unfortunate circumstances," Vox mused, rubbing his chin. "Strange. Vox Populi erred in his previous statement. His opinion can't be either of the two. No, it is a bit of both."

I rose a brow. "Bit of both? So all of what I did was either 'righteous and valorous' or 'petty and inconsequential', then?"

"Yes," he replied flatly, and I had to remind myself that Vox was a blunt-speaking person to keep myself from taking his answer the wrong way. At my expectant gaze, he elaborated, "You say that you did all that for the greater good of your people and for that of... what was it? Roam? Vox Populi does not know what Roam is, but sacrificing your own freedom to save your fellows from harm alone was a righteous act. You have Vox Populi's respect."

I suddenly felt flattered. "Oh. Why, thank you. Glad to have it."

"And you also have Vox Populi's most sincere statement that you're a complete fool for trusting that disgusting Thanus creature," he added immediately afterwards. I frowned, gaze narrowing as he explained with a judgmental tone, "Such a callous wretch, that one. Sacrificing his comrades for his own goals. That Perilax character would do better as leader of that legion, that 'Legio IV Equestrius' or whatever it was. I do and always shall prefer an honest heart and a just cause over the most cunning minds and the most silver tongues. You've been played, crimson pony. You've left your citadel in the watch of one whose mind is only for himself. As a spirit of Justice, believe me when I say that when you meet him again you will want nothing more than to end him in the most painful way possible."

I sighed, head bowed. Yes, ever since my meeting with Perilax and his explanation of the sorry state Thanus had purposely let his legion fall into, I'd had my doubts about the legate. On the outside, I saw a charismatic individual, with a cunning mind that played the situation to its advantage every chance it got. But if what Perilax said was true then the insides of Thanus' mind harbored shadows that could have him cast my home in darkness, out of my reach and out of my protection. Maybe trusting him was a mistake, but there was nothing else I could do at the time. The relationship between my people and the Legion had been too fragile to jeopardize further with suspicion.

"I suppose I'll see," I replied, standing. "The sooner I return to Marediolanon, the sooner I'll find out. We should continue our search. Finding them is my only chance of accomplishing my goal, and accomplishing my goal is the only way I can return with some dignity left. I've risked too much on this to give up on it now. I need to see it through."

He stood as well. "Indeed. Vox Populi diverted half his attention to observing the environment whilst you were speaking. He spotted a plane over yonder that seems to have a higher concentration of extra-large sand," he said as he nodded off to the southwest, to which the manticores had been flying. "Such a land is different from what our eyes have observed thus far. Vox Populi believes such a circumstance goes beyond mere coincidence."

We left the hill and trotted in the direction he indicated. Indeed, the southwestern drylands were particularly rocky compared to what we'd already trotted over (and clearly this flummoxed Vox greatly, for the feel of the 'extra-large' sand beneath his hooves was odd compared to plain dirt). The heat was bearable now, and as the terrain gradually turned hillier we often found ourselves in some form of shade.

At length, Vox spoke and broke the silence. "Crimson pony requested that Vox Populi speak of himself. Vox Populi does not make idle promises, for as a spirit of Justice he does all he can to be just and fair."

I smiled, glad he remembered his end of the deal. "I'm listening."

His next few words came out slowly, uncertainly: "Vox Populi comes from a world that is... what's the term? Transcendent?" He eyed me expectantly, and I waved him continue. "Yes, he supposes 'transcendent' is the term. This world Vox Populi comes from, it is a 'universal pool', a plane from which all cosmic occurrences go through to collect the fundamentals they require in their being."

After a moment of thought, he continued, "Akin it to your mortal stockroom, from which all necessities of a certain situation are obtained. The difference is that Vox Populi's world possesses the raw essence with which everything comes into being. It is a realm of concepts and ideas, and these go along a vast ethereal network of cause-and-effect to possess an observable outcome. But this relationship is not one-sided. No, this progenitor plane derives its existence from the ever-changing essence of its inhabitants. Spirits, you may call us. In turn, the state of these spirits change based on the meaning of the values they incarnate. When Love takes on a new meaning for those who say feel it, then the essence of Love is morphed, and all Love spirits have a bit of themselves changed as well.

"Thus is the relationship the progenitor realm has with all dependent worlds: the inhabitants of the physical realms feel and use these ever-morphing ideas, which in turn change the spirits who embody them. These spirits themselves then change the progenitor realm, and any dependent being who draws upon the essences of universal fundamentals find the state of the idea different, in one way or another. That is why a concept can't be incarnated by one spirit alone, because each instance of it is different, whether from mind-to-mind or place-to-place. There are many spirits of Justice, each manifesting its changing meaning in every second, in every mind, and in every situation."

Gesturing to himself with pride as we trotted along, he said, "Me, I manifest Justice as the tortured souls of this world understand it. I am the final equilibrium, the retributive strike, the vengeful anger. Thus is my being, until the people of this world come to understand Justice differently. Thus I am the Vox Populi, and I represent all of this world's desires for equality."

Wow. Okay, that was a lot for context. I had to give him credit for managing to think all that up if he was indeed just a crazed zony. But if all he said proved true, and he was indeed a spirit... just wow. "But... how did you end up in this world, and in this form?" I asked, entertaining the intriguing possibility that he truly was an ethereal being.

He squinted. "Vox Populi is not sure. The infuriating thing about the spirits of Matter is their unpredictability. For you see, they choose what form the rest of us take when we cross into other realms. The only thing Vox Populi knows for certain is that the raw desire for Justice from which he was spawned resonated from the suffering of souls trapped inside the mind of a malevolent creature. Vox Populi remembers an excruciating pain, a vision of the face of some hideous monster with a snapping maw and a demonic scowl, and then... nothing."

Tapping his forehead in thought, he added, "Vox Populi vaguely remembers being chased, when the world was dark and pinpricks of light dotted a void above him. It went on for a long time, he thinks. Then he felt an odd sensation of not being able to move anymore. This body's eyelids felt heavy, its limbs numb. Then Vox Populi crawled beneath that bridge you found him in, and then there was lapse in time, accompanied by blurry images."

"You were dreaming," I told him, and his expression grew confused. Honestly, I found it queer that a being with such supposedly vast knowledge and power needed elaborations; it only reinforced my resistance to the notion of him being what he said he was. "A dream is a fantastical set of images and thoughts conjured up by the mind, drawing on past experiences, hopes, fears, and other such things to create the imagery."

"Huh. Vox Populi did not know that. This world confuses him, still. Crimson pony is very knowledgeable of his world."

"You can say so," I said as we curved around the base of a small hill, our turn covering us in shadows as the sun sank lower in the sky. "Also, I'd really like it if you stopped calling me 'crimson pony'. You may say you don't have a name -- though I really do think 'Vox Populi' would do fine -- but I do. It's Goldwreath."

"Goldwreath," he mused, our hooves crunching on rock as we trekked partway up the mound. From the hill's slope, we could see further inland -- the terrain was now dominated by hills, with rock-and-dirt valleys in between them. To my surprise, several tall shapes jutted out of some of the hills. I'd seen them enough in pictures and books. They may have been dead and twisted, but they were trees nonetheless. The first trees I'd seen in the outside world. "Very well. Vox Populi shall call you Goldwreath, as requested."

"And I shall call you Vox Populi," I replied. He shrugged, taking the notion of having a name of his own with nonchalance.

Then something caught my attention in the encroaching darkness of the early evening. In between two distant hills was a tiny point of white light, bright and distinct from the dark-orange illumination of the sun as it began to descend into the horizon. Vox Populi was right. Not only did the direction he'd taken us in change the landscape, but it also showed us the first signs of civilization. A working light bulb had to indicate something of the sort, right?

Vox seemed to discern my thoughts, and suggested as he looked off at it as well, "Perhaps we should proceed to it? I know little of this realm. Your worldly instincts must take precedence in guiding us on our noble venture. If you go thither, I shall follow."

I thought on it, then decided that whatever it was must be a step up over the barrenness of the drylands. With a nod, I had us trot over to it.

What we found surprised me. The bulb wasn't isolated, but rather was one of many white bulbs encircling a multi-colored neon sign reading 'Malek's Bazaar'. The bright sign itself was mounted on a massive wooden board held high by a pole, and the pole stood next to a simple, wide, rectangular wooden building with boarded up windows and sandbags lining the base. What surprised me even more were the dirt paths, snaking over the ground from various directions across the hilly landscape and meeting right beneath the door of the building. Right outside the door was a wooden stall with a single lamp, and behind the counter was an idling zebra stallion clothed in a white robe, sitting and reading with little observance of the environment. From his head protruded an odd white extension -- a turban, I realized after a moment's further observation. Nearby were two forms shrouded in dark cloth, each possessing curved scabbards containing scimitars on their sides.

"Might Vox Populi ask what manner of construct this is? It looks derelict, out of place, as do its denizens. Especially when one considers the deserted location. Are these common characteristics for artificial structures in this realm?" Vox queried as we observed the bazaar from afar.

I chewed my lip, shrugging. "I don't know. Probably, considering the state the world's in. I've not been out here too long, nor have I encountered any shops, which makes me wonder if the wasteland even uses currency." My eyes lit up. Currency... money! Gah, but my denarii were taken along with my saddlebags. A shame. The memory of being robbed killed the premature excitement of being able to purchase... well, whatever the owner, this 'Malek', had in store. Things like necessities. My heart sank, the thought of going another day in the open heat without water weighing down on me.

"Currency? What is currency?" Vox questioned, curious.

"Ask again later," I said curtly, and he winced as if I'd just spat in his face. Well, clearly somebody wasn't used to not being answered. But while I would have loved to sit down and answer trivia for my ignorant companion, what I would have appreciated more than anything else were supplies. Something to make our little quest less suicidal. Clothing, water, food; even weapons -- yes, even weapons. Right now I needed to find some means of obtaining what we needed. But not thievery. No, not petty thievery. I would convince this Malek to help us, or walk the world on an empty stomach and with a dry throat -- but with an honest heart -- before I'd become a thief.

"Come on. Let's see if there's anything to be obtained from here, somehow," I said as I approached the bazaar.

As we moved from the darkness of twilight, one of the cloaked figures spotted us. Then the figure approached the stall and pulled on a thin rope attached to a bell. The ringing that ensued stirred the stallion behind the counter, and he jumped from his seat at the sound. Then seeing Vox and I approaching, he sighed and frowned in something resembling pity. But then he put on a wide grin and plopped both forehooves onto the wooden desk.

"Welcome, welcome, travelers!" came his voice, cheery and welcoming as the world was plunged into the darkness of night. His accent made me arch a brow; his heavy emphasis on the 'r's of his speech made me think he perhaps originated from Roam's neighbor nation, Saddle Arabia. If my watching of all those Daring Do films about mummies in the desert and in the forests taught me one thing, it was how Saddle Arabians sounded like. "I see you've found my shop, though it's situated in the isolated drylands of the south. How wonderful! It's been a while since I've had any customers." Then with a bit of trepidation he added, "Ah, a pony and a half-blood, too. Such queerness is exciting in this lonely little corner of the world."

He casted a quick glance to both of his companions, then said in a rush, "Ah, but I am rambling. Come over, my friends! Come and browse Malek's Bazaar!"

We reached the stall, and I found myself face-to-face with the widely-grinning merchant. I also found myself casting furtive glances at his two quiet companions -- both clearly zebras, obvious from the fur visible beneath the eye-slits of their black clothing and hoods. Probably just mercenaries, I thought, hoping that the stereotyped reputation of their kind as dangerous, reckless goons proved untrue in the face of simple, honest shopping. At least as close to shopping as we could get, considering we had no money.

"Hello there, Malek. My friend and I are hoping to conduct business," I said in a civil tone, leaning close to the counter. "Might we know what you have for sale?"

"Why, certainly." With that he disappeared beneath the desk, which promptly turned upside-down to reveal a set of shelves, each displaying merchandise. The topmost and largest shelf displayed an assortment of weaponry, ranging from blades of various shapes and sizes to small firearms such as pistols, shotguns, and assault rifles. The shelf below displayed ammo, and the one below that presented accessories for the blades and the guns. I was surprised by the quality and condition of the armaments. If I didn't know any better, I'd say such things were manufactured using Marediolanon's own workshop!

He gestured over the merchandise with an easy yet somehow forced smile. "Have a look. Do any of my beauties sing their siren songs in your ears?"

I rose a brow skeptically and picked one of the blades up. It was a shiny thing, with two prongs sticking out of the tip, almost as if it was designed to appear scissor-like. To my shock, I realized it basically was a big scissor; the handle's dual-grip structure confirmed it. This was no Roaman weapon. Gods, I could imagine being stabbed with such a thing, before my opponent expanded it within me and spilled my guts out all over. I suppressed a shudder and carefully put it back.

"Er, do you have any model of combat-bracers?" I asked. I'd not yet encountered any of the mutated horrors of the wasteland, and the hostilities I'd faced thus far weren't so severe as to absolutely demand fatal retaliation. But I knew nonetheless that such a time would come, and that I did need a weapon. But not something like that; perhaps something less... gruesome. Besides, if I was to obtain an instrument of death, I first needed the means to handle it. Even if I didn't like the idea of being effective at killing one bit.

"Oh, yes. Of course, my good friend," he replied with a bow, and stepped back and entered the door behind him, disappearing into the darkness. Then he came out of the doorway moments later with a leather blanket in his forelegs. Then hiding the secret merchandise's compartment once more, he placed the blanket onto the stall with reverence. He flipped it open and waved a hoof over the trifecta of hoof-accessories within.

One was a black plate that could wrap around the foreleg entirely; it bore grooves and straps and nooks for a great variety of weapons. One was light-blue, outlined with polished silver and positioned its many slots all around the plate. Potentially, it could allow handling of multiple weapons at once. Whether or not doing so was safe was a question I could guess the answer to. Both of them were fine pieces of hardware, surely to be useful in any situation.

But it was the last one, a finely-crafted Roaman military model, featuring the iconic golden laurels and the letters IPQR, that caught my attention. It sported bright red plating and was outlined in bronze. There were only three slots, one on each side of the two laurels and the last below the letters. The biggest slot for the large handle of a gun, if I recalled; a smaller one for the lighter weight of gladii; the last for the nook of a shield. Shield, sword, and gun -- the vital trio of any Roaman legionary.

My own combat-bracer in Marediolanon had been something like the first of these. Only Horus had anything resembling the Roaman model. It was a blatant effect of sentimentality, but I could not find it in me to desire something I'd only ever known as something restricted for my superior.

"I'd take two pairs of the black one, if I could," I said, holding it in my hooves and frowning. Malek rose his brows, confused, and I explained, "We haven't any money. We were... well, I was robbed. By some tribals on manticores." That had him raise his brows, and in his eyes I saw something akin to terror. "They took everything I had: basic necessities of survival, navigational material, packaging utilities..." I put it back down and cast a glance over my shoulder at Vox. His return gaze was pitiful; no doubt the justice-seeking impulses within him were crying out for retribution for my sorry state. Yet his pity felt more like scorn, and I looked away before my pride started having me wrongly despise him.

Then surprise overtook me as I saw Malek looking me over with a similar pity. "Ah, I see," he said. Then he took the black bracer out and held it in his own hooves, twirling it about as he did. "You know, my friend, Malek hears such tragic tales often. Always of others unjustly taking what is not theirs; always how heartless some unnatural creature in pony or zebra form kills in cold blood. In my homeland, such things are not called 'bad people', or 'criminals'. They are called demons, for only demons could be so utterly cruel." He sighed.

"I have been a victim of these demons before, back when I was a young, foolish traveller from other lands. Coming to Roam in hopes of making a fortune off of the dead empire's vast wealth, I came to realize that its richness was not in gold, nor in jewels. But in weapons." He suddenly looked disgusted. "So we had a wonderful combination. A land filled with demons, and also a land of destruction. Malek did not see how it could get worse, then. He only knew that as a child of the great land of peace and prosperity known as Saddle Arabia, he had to use his wit to make it better. So he set up his bazaar, hoping to conduct civil trade with all. But Malek's culture has taught him something more important than the prosperity of coin, my friend pony..."

He leaned close, and when his face was inches from mine he whispered discreetly, "It has taught him the prosperity brought by love of one's fellows. Compassion for the needy, pity for the bereft. Which is why Malek has made it a rule for himself to give something freely from his collection whenever the weary and lost come to his door."

For just a moment, I was confused. Then realization dawned on me and my eyes widened. Before anything could be said he took both my forelegs and laid them on the table, then without hesitation washed my sandy hooves off with water from a nearby basin. When that was done he took out two black bracers and strapped them to my forelegs. They felt numb when they were on solid ground again, reflecting perfectly well how shocked I was.

Vox was the first to speak. "You would give without asking for anything in return?" he asked, sounding baffled. "It does not seem fair. It is not just. This generosity can be abused. Justice would see to it you were repaid."

"I shall be," Malek replied quietly. Then he gestured Vox come over to the counter as well. With clear hesitation, he trotted over, and when his own legs were on the table and being equipped with bracers, Malek explained, "This life is but one of many, my brothers in the eyes of the one true God. When we die, we shall be judged according to our sins and our deeds of compassion. Malek knows that in doing good that pleases Him, he enables God's goodness to flow into people's hearts. Thus I not only help others and earn my place in paradise, but I also help others to earn theirs. That is the greatest treasure anyone can have. Happiness is infectious, just as my culture would have it. Prosperity for all."

Vox, befuddled beyond all understanding as he stood there, shaking his head and blinking rapidly, could not find it in him to just accept the act of random kindness. Thus Malek had to say, "Take it, and do as I have done. Be kind to others who you may meet. Judge them not, whatever they may be. I know in this world that may be hard -- people desire worldly pleasures, and indulge in vices too eagerly, vengeance being one of the most severe." That tore Vox's eyes right up from the ground and had him stare at the zebra intensely.

But Malek just smirked. "I shall not ask why you react to that word so strangely. I can only guess. But, my friends, all I ask is that you use these gifts to help others, and not solely to hurt them. If all things have two edges, use the one that cuts down evil, and not the one that slices hopes. Can you do that?"

I lifted a foreleg up and and looked at the gift, my mind dwelling on the awe and admiration I felt for this foreigner zebra. Then I nodded, and with a certain gaze I looked at him. "It has always been my intent to help. I work for a greater good. And your kindness has only proven to me that there are others who do the same. We will remember this for all the days of the rest of our lives."

It may not have been water. Nor was it food, or clothing, or directions. But more important than the item was the thought. The idea. And ideas, as I knew, could never die. An idea was immortal. An idea was the most important thing anyone could ever possess.

He nodded, and then he glanced off to the sides, at the two guards. One of them had departed, lost from vision; perhaps he had to go relieve himself? Whatever the case, the remaining guard was idling about, paying little heed to the counter.

"Good, good," Malek muttered. Then suddenly his expression turned grim. "Listen," he whispered in a rush, "You are the pony Kabal was to enslave. I know this because he would not stop raving about it earlier. In approaching me, you have approached the secret entrance to his people's underground cavern home. The two guards here are his fellows, and they will not let you leave."

Suddenly all sense of gratitude left me. "What?!" I hissed, eyes popping wide in terror.

Malek bowed his head. "I am sorry I did not tell you sooner, but I too am kept here unwillingly. Gut you, you can help us all. Try to leave. Let them take you down below. There are others. Many others, all enslaved. Many came to me, and none listened when I warned them. You must, for it is the only way they can be stopped. The only way to end a terrible operation within these lands. Please." His eyes drifted to the bracers he gave us. "Slave possessions are taken from them as soon as they are below, but those are locked. They cannot be taken. They will need to call someone to remove them, and that will buy you time. Use that time to fight and escape. Please, I have prayed long and hard since the day I realized what this place was for Him to send us aid. You must do something."

I had the fierce, blazing impulse to smash his face in for this deception; for not warning us on the onset. Was my life not complicated enough? Dangerous enough? Was it not derailed from normalcy enough? Honestly, I would have given into that impulse despite the danger if a little voice in my head didn't plead the same -- to help all those poor souls, to free them from their bonds. It saw what I could not in my rage: that more than just an obligation, it was also a duty that had been laid on me.

As one who liberated himself, the voice seemed to argue, You have the duty to liberate others. Do so now, and free them all.

The voice didn't bring down my anger one bit, but it did make me think. And so I imagined other people, those unfortunate enough to not escape slavery like I had. I saw them toiling day after day, forced to do the wills of their callous masters. The imaginary sight infuriated me and poured gasoline on the blaze of my fury. Malek claimed he was a slave. He didn't look like one. He could have been lying. But if there were really others down in some cave, chained to rocks and toiling in the dirt, then it had to be stopped. I could not stand by.

I took a step back, compressing my rage as quickly as I could. I didn't say a word to Malek as he eyed me pleadingly, face sweaty and tense and hooves stiff on the table. Then I took another step back, nudging Vox on the shoulder as I backtracked. "Come on. Let's go," I said calmly, and began trotting away in the hopes that either Malek's story was a lie, or that we'd at least be brought to this 'underground cavern' with little fuss. No sense getting beaten down while trying to resist.

But Vox didn't listen. Instead he slammed his hooves on the table, crushing Malek's forelegs against the wood. Malek crumpled against the stall in pain, his mouth dangling open from the agony.

"You treacherous snake!" my companion shouted. "You dare lure innocents into this trap? What's more, you lure them in with promises of aid and supplies? Foul trickery! You... accursed... whelp!" he screamed, striking the zebra across the face with each word. Malek was bruised and battered all over by the time Vox grabbed him by the collar and yanked him across the counter. I stumbled back as the guards rushed to the commotion.

"Vox!" I hissed, tugging at him in futility. "This isn't how we want to try to do this! We need to get down there, not try to get ourselves killed up here! Vox!"

As I pulled at him, a sack suddenly went over my face, suffocating and blinding me. I fell back onto the dirt, kicking and screaming muffled yells as I was dragged along across rough ground. A moment later I heard a dull thump and a grunt of pain, and Vox's raving was silenced. I tried to get my breathing down and go along with the dragging as best I could, hoping they'd not beat me just because Vox was unwilling to be calm. Then we stopped, and a rope went around my neck and was tied tightly, attaching the sack to my head. A second later I heard a wooden creak, like a door opening.

"Strike that one upon the skull again, brother," someone said, in an accent that caught my attention. Not Roaman, but not Saddle Arabian, either. Their clothing (or disguise?) didn't match their ethnicity, it seemed. But he didn't sound tribal, either. No, he sounded rather civil, with an almost chivalrous and knightly tone in his voice. "His consciousness remains intact. It must be rectified."

With the same accent the other replied, "Nay, 'tis not necessary. Their descent shall knock them both into unconsciousness. Let us save ourselves the effort." And with that I felt myself grabbed by the head and thrown down into a hole. Light shone partially through the thick cloth as I fell, screaming, for the second time that day.

I regretted it, getting myself involved in that unfortunate event. I'd nearly lost my freedom once, I didn't want to risk it again! As if I'd not suffered enough with the breakage of my wings. Or with the volatility of my home. The hopelessness of my quest. Why, oh, why did I even--

I'd hoped for a painful fall, something I could at least recover from and try to get my bearings right after. But they were right. The fall knocked me out cold, and plunged me into darkness as I struck solid stone below.

I was unconscious twice in one day. I wondered if maybe it was going to start affecting my head.

Throbbing soreness and aching limbs greeted me as I slipped back into consciousness. My senses returned one at a time. The discomfort of my hip pressing against rough, splintered wood was most aggravating, especially considering my flesh was digging into sharp crevices in the surface. I groaned and sat, gently rubbing my temple.

"Welcome back to Terra. How was Tartarus?" someone asked with a little chuckle. Friendly yet out of place, the comment and tone struck me enough to direct my attention to its source.

A pony. A light-brown, black-maned stallion, with a cutie mark of a lamp, radiating light from within its metal-and-glass form. He was sitting on his flanks, leaned back against a set of curved metal bars. More of such bars surrounded us, enclosing me and him in a near-spherical cage of bent metal and wooden flooring. The metal bars -- more akin to spikes -- converged near the top-center of the cage, where a hole gaped into our little prison. Beyond the hole was utter darkness: clearly, I'd fallen in from wherever that darkness lead.

I scurried backwards a bit. "I... what is this place?" I asked as I looked about, blinking. Jutting forth from stone walls was an array of cables, which converged beneath our cage and kept us suspended high above sharp, threatening stalagmites below. There were torches lining the oddly-colored cavernous walls -- the rock seemed to be arranged in layers of dark and light reds, dirty whites and browns. The torches illuminated a cave that seemed utterly cut off from any larger cavern. Surely the little hole leading into the cage wasn't the only means one could get stuck here, but there was nothing else. No door, or cave mouth, or passageway. Just walls of rock and that tiny hole.

"Well, if one uses one's eyes," the stallion said suspensefully, drawing close and widening his eyes, holding his forehooves in front of him with his ears folded back, "One. Can see. That this. Is a cave." With that he moved his forehooves back and forth rapidly, making a spooky noise. "Bewaaaare the caves!"

I drew back ever so slightly and rose a brow. "I, um... I see." Why were the people I met outside either hostile or eccentric? Was that a trope of existence? I looked around again, then turned back to him. "But I take it that's not your real answer."

He shrugged. "Eh, not really. I know next to nothing about this place, same as you. Went to get supplies, got knocked out, wound up here. You know, same old, same old," he said simply. "I'd have really appreciated if they let me keep what I bought, though. These people took my possessions on my way down, when I was out cold. Thieves..." He frowned, pouting his lips.

Then he glanced to me, and his eyes lit up as he grabbed my foreleg, caring nothing for my personal space. "You, though. Still have your bracer, I see." He inspected my foreleg, where a great many scratches marred my flesh around the black metal. I assumed that whoever these people were had tried to pry it off me before giving up. At least Malek's lock worked. The extra cuts I got would be for nothing if I didn't get to use it, though.

"Seems you took that Malek fellow up on his offer," the pony said, then tsked. "Wish I did, then maybe I'd have a chance of surviving when I'm next."

I swallowed, "'When I'm next'?"

He nodded, letting go of my leg. "Oh yeah. Our captors come about once an hour to check up on this cage and pick out one sorry sod to bring... well, somewhere. The guy who came down with you, the zony? He wasn't happy one bit when they came. Took three of those tattooed snobs and a knight to drag him along, heh."

Oh crap. Vox! "Where is he? Where did they take him?" I asked in a rush, standing up.

He pointed over at the wall with a hoof. "That wall's a sinister thing. Actually a door, you see, to some weird settlement or what have you on the other side. Just caught a glimpse of it when they pulled the cage close, but I saw houses built on wooden frames. There were polished tiles and concrete columns, even a chandelier of sparkling crystal." With a skeptical pout he muttered, "A chandelier. Now that just seems so excessive."

I grit my teeth anxiously. "Oh hell. When were they here last?"

"An hour ago," he said, and my eyes widened. Then he chuckled reassuringly. "Relax, relax. They're very picky about who they bring with them to that 'paradise beyond the veil'. At least, the one picking out from this cage is. Griffons and zonies? Oh, yes! Mutated zebras and non-mutated zebras? Utterly desired!" he said enthusiastically, before he deadpanned, "Ponies of all kinds? Oh no. See, you and I, my fellow 'colored', are the least of their priorities. Too exotic, that fat lout said. Ah, well. More time out of whatever 'paradise' it is they have out there, at least."

I sighed and slumped against the cruelly bent bars. "Great. So we're stuck here." He nodded and laid back contentedly, closing his eyes. I supposed being trapped was better than being forced into labor, at least until the hunger set in. After that, I imagined most would be willing to perform the most demeaning things just for scraps. Perhaps even come to utterly rely on pittance and pity for mere survival...

Ah, but such thoughts were destructive. I would never submit to such humiliation, not while dignity still mattered. But now I had a brewing curiosity pertaining to something he said.

"You said it took three tattooed zebras and a knight to subdue my companion. A knight? As in, the chivalrous warriors? Complete with armor and all?" I asked, and a single eye opened as he smiled back at me.

"Oh yeah, and complete with holier-than-thou accents, too. Why, as if the wasteland wasn't strange enough, the people of Ye Olde times have to come back to life, eh?" He chuckled, sitting straight again. "But yeah, knights. And there was a bunch of praetorians that came by yesterday, too. For a while I thought the Legion was backing whatever weird operation's going on down here, but then the zebras in that fancy black and purple armor just didn't look as..." He paused and tapped his chin in thought. "Smug? Self-righteous? Grim? Stoic? No, no... ah, yes! They didn't look as fat as some actual praetorians I saw. The Legion's soldiers are well fed. And I read books. A real Roaman officer would never ignore his troop’s health that badly."

Well, that was true, except this guy probably didn't know that the Legion's troops weren't quite as well fed as he thought. Still, hearing that there were knights and praetorians down here, coupled with Saddle Arabian desert warriors (oddly with knightly accents) topside, made me wonder if what Malek had said was a slaving nexus wasn't actually just some kind of strange dress-up-and-role play center. What a silly thing if it were, and -- despite everything -- the absurdity of the thought brought me a tiny chuckle.

"You know," the brown stallion mused, leaning back against the bars again with his gaze directed upwards, "I've been stuck down here for nearly two days now. There were, like, five people here when I woke up. All zebras. They got taken all at once the next time Mr. Fatty came, leaving me stuck here with no one to talk to and nothing to do but sleep and get bored."

He jerked up straight and put on a grin. "So! Before he finally decides us ponies are more exotic than zebras in zebra lands, I'd like to take this opportunity to thank you for your most generous presence, which no doubt has saved my sanity. I swear, if I had to endure listening to water drip down onto the rocks below for another damned day..."

I smiled ruefully. "Well, I'm so glad to be down here." Sarcastically, I added, "Really. I am." I sighed, then smiled more sincerely. "So I take it we should introduce ourselves."

"Ooh, I forgot about that," he replied, and rolled his neck. Then he let off a blissful sigh at the pops that followed, and said happily as he gestured to himself, "Lampshade, adventurer and part-time captive of this most illustrious establishment. You know, the facilities here are very good; I hear the staff are quite friendly."

I snickered and said my piece, "I am Goldwreath, and I am most glad to finally meet someone who both bears no ill intent for me -- I hope -- and seems open about his name. I take it people wouldn't be too trusting, so it's a pleasure to encounter someone who isn't too paranoid in that regard."

He chuckled. "Yes, I imagine most would glance over their shoulders as if it were a requirement to living. Not me, though. Life's too short, and -- as it is -- too glum and drab for me to just add to it. I'd prefer to make friends at a tavern and get drunk on the floor. You know, merrymaking. That's not so strange, is it?"

"Well, seeing as you're the first person I've met here that's open about himself, and strangeness by definition is the peculiarity of something or someone in comparison to others, I'd say you are a bit strange."

He contemplated it for a moment, all the while scrunching his face and letting out a low guttural groan. Then he relaxed and nodded, "Fair enough. I guess I am kind of strange. Comes from the humor, you know? Most don't care to smile and joke just for the sake of the joy they bring. A shame. I imagine most would want nothing but happiness, but they try to accomplish it the wrong way. Sigh."

"Like forcing others to do their labor for them," I agreed, then frowned and shook my head. I looked around at the cavern. "We really should try to get out of here before anything else. Malek pleaded that my companion and I do our best to help the people down here. I'm not one to lightly walk away when I know I can do something, so I'll not waste away here while both he and others are being turned into... property."

Lampshade squinted and pursed his lips, then stuck his tongue out from his elongated lips and licked over the entrance of his mouth. Clearly a gesture of intense thought, I told myself, holding back odd glances as he sucked in air through the small hole of his mouth.

"I guess," he said, but looked at me skeptically. "We could just wait, though. They wouldn't really just leave us here to die, would they? Slavers need all the workers they can get, after all."

"True," I replied, but braced my forelegs against the metal bars anyway. "But I'm not going to wait for them. I want to be free on my own terms." I looked over at him. "Now, where's the door on this wall? Where exactly?" And as an afterthought, I looked over the distance between our suspended prison and the rock wall. Seven feet. Close, but not close enough for anyone to just jump the distance. "I wonder..."

He stood up with great effort, then stretched his spine before approaching. "There," he said as he pointed at a rough spot on the multicolored rock wall, where the stone looked ever so slightly sandier than anywhere else. Then he looked uncomfortable as he caught my gaze.

"Alright. Now, the door. Is it made of wood or rock?" I asked.

Now he really looked unnerved, but answered anyway. "Hollowed wood. But really, seeing as there are sharp, pointy stalagmites below us, I really don't think-..."

He didn't get to finish his objection as I started shaking the entire cage, gripping tightly on the metal bars as I threw my weight forward repeatedly. The clanging of metal and the thwacking of cables that followed was almost deafening as the echoes reverberated through the small space, yet I continued until I got the result I wanted: the cage was now closer to the wall, which only meant my assumption was true. The cables didn't simply converge beneath our prison; beneath the wooden floor we stood on must have been some kind of pulley mechanism. How else could the slavers pull their slaves-to-be close enough to drag them out?

When I finally stopped for breath, he opened his eyes and took his hooves off his ears. "Right then. I was hoping to die of old age, but I guess bleeding out through my ears isn't so bad, either. Oh, but I'd still prefer old age."

I rolled my eyes. "You're not going to die, Lampshade," I said. "As soon as we get ourselves close enough to the wall, I'll bust the damn thing open, and we'll get out of here. Hope that there's no one right outside, because we're screwed if there is."

It took two more cycles of throwing my weight towards the wall. Each time I stopped when either the noise gave me a headache, or my lungs demanded a break. But at last we were there, so close to the wall we could actually touch it with our hooves. I felt around the surface and gave it a few taps; there was a hollow spot. Good.

"You know, there's still the matter of getting ourselves past the bars," Lampshade said. "Fatty has a key to open a little lock that allows one of the bars to be removed, making just enough space for people to be dragged out of. We don't exactly have that key."

In response to his statement I looked at the bar right in front of me. It was an old thing, rusting all across its form, especially near the base. Good thing, too, for it allowed me to tear it out of the wooden floor with little trouble.

"Oh. Well, then, forget the key," he muttered, and stepped back as I positioned the sharpened tip against the wall.

I breathed deep. "Let's hope all goes well." And with that I thrust the bar against the deceptive wall again and again, chipping away at the artificial layer of stone covering the hollow wooden door beneath. The wood provided little challenge, and burst into splinters as I punched a hole right into it. Widening the hole took even less effort, as I dropped the bar and slammed against the board again and again with my hooves. Thus we broke through the first layer of the door. The frame inside was light and clearly not built to withstand abuse. Those went down to my pummeling, breaking into a thousand pieces as I attacked it with the fervent desire to be rid of my cage.

Picking up the bar again, I broke through the final barrier, and was rewarded with a ray of warm light from beyond. With greater desire, I tore the whole thing down from top to bottom, savagely and mercilessly breaking it to pieces with hoof and bar. My heartbeat escalated as the last inches of its form were shattered to splinters, and I stepped freely onto the polished tiles of the illuminated cavern beyond, victorious and proud as I smiled up at the light bulb above me. I was scratched and sweaty and tired, but my freedom made it all worth it.

Lampshade stepped out after me and immediately froze in place. "Er, Goldwreath..." he murmured as he nudged my shoulder. But I ignored him as I stood there, panting and basking in the surge of my accomplishment. "Goldwreath. Hey," he hissed insistently, and shoved me lightly to get me out of my stupor. Annoyed, I glared at him.

"What?" I growled. First Lucius destroying the moment of grandeur, and then this? Really, was it a crime to enjoy what one so deserved? Apparently so, what with how wide-eyed and anxious Lampshade's gaze was as he stared at me. Then his eyes darted elsewhere and back repeatedly, and I finally followed his sight.

My blood froze in my veins. "Oh. Shit."

The knight watching us was standing next to a dirty marble column that jutted out of the polished floor to support a smooth-cut stone ceiling above us. He wore heavy plate-armor, with massive pauldrons protruding from his shoulders. On his cuirass was a symbol of two warhammers crossed, and enclosing them were golden laurels. His eyes were wide, surprised as he looked at us from within his head-enclosing helmet's dark visor. As he stood, he looked up to the top of the column directly opposite his own, at a clock illuminated by a torch. The entire area was eerily quiet and empty, save for the ticking of the clock and some wooden scaffolding right in front of the destroyed door. Atop the scaffolding was a pair of tents.

"Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little when I said 'houses on wooden frames'," Lampshade muttered. Then we both stiffened as the knight turned to us and spoke.

"Well, it takes thee nigh five minutes to ravish thy prison and secure liberty for thyself. Most impressive," the knight said, and looked back to us as we stood there like statues, neither of us daring to move a muscle. His gaze turned skeptical as he trotted over, his armored boots clanging on the tiles. He stopped in front of us, his eyes scrutinizing us both like we were interesting artifacts. Then the knight's armored hoof grabbed me by the jaw and lifted my face up as he inspected me. I let out a grunt of discomfort as he moved my head about, looking me over from every angle.

"So thou art the troublesome pegasus that infuriated ser Kabal. Thou doesn't look so capable, what with thy wings in such a state of injury," he said as he eyed my broken appendages. His gaze made me ruffle them uncomfortably, just enough to realize they still ached terribly from their exertion earlier that day. Then his eyes looked back to my own.

"Ser Kabal has not yet been informed of thy most vulnerable situation. I suppose none of his fellow knaves properly scrutinized their new batch of forced laborers," the knight informed me, taking his hoof out from under my jaw. I was grateful, both for the restored sanctity of my personal space and the fortuitous news of my presence being, as of yet, unknown to the very zebra who'd tried to enslave me. "But thou will need to be careful, lest ye both be discovered out of your cells."

My eyebrows rose at his statement, as did Lampshade's. "Wait. So you mean... you're not throwing us back in?" the brown pony asked.

The knight simply shook his head, eyeing us pitifully. "Nay." And with that, he turned to leave. "My suggestion is for ye both to hide. Whether amongst the populace of this settlement or within the caverns, I know not. Fare thee well." He began trotting off, leaving Lampshade and I staring at each other in rushed necessity. Don't let him leave just yet! we both seemed to say.

"Hey. Hey wait, we need help!" I called, and wanted to choke my words back at the volume of my voice. If I didn't attract more attention to us with my echoes reverberating down the cavern like a call saying, 'I'm here, capture me!', then it would be a blessing. But as it was only the knight heeded me, and he stopped and turned around.

"Truly? And what dost thou think I can do for ye? I am a knight of this settlement, sworn to protecting it and its... people." He drawled out the last word with disgust. "I deal not with the serfs, nor am I supposed to even be here. But I could not ignore the loud, cracking noise emanating from this tunnel, and so here I am."

"Yes, but, but maybe you could just... I don't know. You're not out for my blood and you don't want us back in our cage, which is good. Maybe help us get some clothes? Maybe disguises?" I pleaded. The knight now was an absolute blessing. I'd been a fool to assume no one would be outside waiting for us. Had it been anyone else, I doubt our fortunes would have been good. Despite the need to break free, I could have cost us our lives. But the risk had paid off, thank goodness. Yet simply being allowed to find our own means of surviving down here was not enough. We needed help, and I needed this guy to give it.

My heartfelt request for aid seemed to claw away at him, as he tilted his head and locked me still with a gaze that showed both pain and conflict. Then he shut his eyes close and groaned, bowing his head. "Very well, very well. I shall help," he said tiredly, and lifted his head up. "Just understand that this, ye both. Your escape? 'Tis a happening that mayhap possesses potential to cause quite a stir down here. The government of this settlement is convoluted, at best. I will let my superior explain when we get to him. Perhaps he can find a use for ye."

I felt my breath leave me as relief overtook my senses. A blissful relaxation spread out within me, like a warm surge. "Thank you. Thank you so much," I said, smiling faintly. But the knight still seemed anxious as he muttered a welcome. Then he trotted past us with haste and climbed the wooden scaffolding. He fished out some rough and tattered clothes from one of the tents and threw them down at us below. Then he sat on the edge.

"On with those now, and quickly," he ordered. "There's no telling if others have overheard this exchange. We must depart, before the obese one comes along yet again."

As he hurriedly threw the over-sized, badly-kept brown rags on, Lampshade questioned, "I don't suppose you could tell us exactly where we are? I'd like to give a name to the place that imprisoned me for two days. People'll need to be warned, they will."

The knight shrugged as he climbed down the scaffolding. No easy task in his heavy armor. Then he paused and looked over his shoulder at us. With a nonchalance in his voice, he replied, "The inhabitants and the Core Committee have taken to naming this place after its deceptive means of procuring additional serfs. This place, you may call the Spiderhole."

"Huh. Strange name," Lampshade commented. "Though I suppose those wolf spiders are strange things, too. I've never seen one, though. Have any of you?"

"I have," the knight replied as he began trotting along down the torch-lit tunnel. "It's a most deceptive creature. Just like the promise this place had..." he sighed.

From the distance along the cavern, I could make out sounds, voices: the noise of work and civilization. A shame that that civilization used slaves. And as we continued along, the tunnel with its asymmetrical stone floor and walls -- all marked with strange glyphs and drawings painted using faint silver material -- turned into a finely-cut hallway of concrete and steel pillars that held the weight of the rock up. I noticed one other thing, in particular.

"This place kind of looks like the interior of a Stable, if the interior was much more spacious," I murmured. Then I got a glance from the knight -- a surprised, disbelieving look. I cleared my throat and amended, "Well, not that I've ever been in one. I, uh... saw it in a book?" If people regarded Stables so important as to wage wars over, then their residents must've been something of interest to many. If I could keep my head down in that regard, that would be good.

"There're no books that detail the interior of the Roaman government's Stables," the knight countered. "Only the pamphlets provided to they given entry to the shelters possessed such information. Such pamphlets were provided only in the Stables themselves when the residents-to-be arrived. Thus, I think you actually are from a Stable."

Oh hell. He was right. And just like that, my poorly-kept secret was out. The thought of it spreading to all sorts of people worried me, clearly enough that it showed on my face. The knight smirked. "Oh, don't look so surprised. I know a Stable dweller when I see one. I've seen a few, actually, and so has the wasteland. Wandering Stable dwellers are more common to the outside than you think. I should know. I'm one."

My eyes popped wide. "Wait... what?"

So... Spiderhole.

It was an interesting name for an interesting place. Named after the means by which unwilling captives were brought down into the caverns, it was also designed like a spider. Literally, if the map I had seen on the wall proved true. The various caves and cavern systems weren't all natural, contrary to my initial belief. The entire underground complex had been a museum commissioned during the war, and was dedicated to the preservation of centuries of zebra history. In its spider leg-shaped passages were held artifacts from the Roaman Republican era all the way to the Imperial and Renaissance ages. Then there were the halls dedicated to the tribal cultures of the zebras who'd inhabited the deserts and jungles. Virtually every territory and people ever brought under Roaman rule, even if for just a few years, had a spot somewhere in the Arachnus de Centuriae Center for Historic and Cultural Treasures, as the whole place had been originally named.

And it was also a Stable. Stable 8 Arachna -- the revelation of such information almost had me throw a fit of excitement. The words of the knight had proven true! But not all of it was the Stable; only the central chamber, the gigantic abdomen of the spider, housed the Stable proper. It was towards that huge, circular cave that our chivalrous guide was taking us as we waded into and out of crowds of people, all dressed and outfitted in a manner befitting a certain time and people of the Roaman empire. It was a fascinating sight to see mares and stallions dressed with all sorts of clothes, speaking all sorts of languages as they milled about their lives. There were shops and libraries, built into the rock and earth. Stones and gems for sale there, traditional Prance cuisine there... oh, it was absolutely delightful!

It all left me insatiably curious and giddy, despite my predicament. I'd grown up with the memorized list of the first fifty Roaman Stables in my mind, yet this was the first I'd ever encountered beyond my own home. And what I found was something I never thought I'd see: a center for cultural mingling, perhaps the only one of its kind!

Our guide, a knight by the name of Caridin, who represented the knights of the Roaman province Germane Minor during its medieval metamorphosis, was not keen on answering any further inquiries. I had Lampshade to blame for that: my fellow pony had asked incessantly for the location of the nearest decent bathroom. Now Caridin kept a determined silence, leaving me starving for information, and furious at Lampshade for irritating the person who'd decided to help us.

We passed underneath a geometrically patterned stone arch -- an indication of where a leg of the spider ended and where the abdomen began, I thought -- and entered a much larger chamber, with a stone ceiling higher up than anywhere else. Here was the hub of activity in all of Spiderhole, for along the walls of the circular cave were lined countless vendors and stores, all organized by culture and era.

In the middle, towering above the bedlam of the cultural mingling below, rose the Stable. It appeared as a titanic metal rod stabbed into the ground, jutting into the rock both above and below it. It was massive, with a circumference wide enough to house a great many people if there was more to its length than what was plainly visible. Its height and position within the cave made the construction of balconies and ramparts along the walls of the Stable exterior practical. On some of those, knights patrolled and looked out over the eight stony entrances. On others, praetorians kept vigil over the crowds below. And still on others there were elaborately-armored zebras with wide circular shields and long pikes. They were unmistakably hoplites, the elite soldiers of the old mountainous kingdom of Mac'adonia.

The door we had approached was not unlike the door of Marediolanon, making me smile at the similarity that reminded me of home. The only differences were that the symbol was not of wolves, but of a spider encased in golden laurels; there was also the fact that there was not just one door, but three -- each equidistant from each other along the Stable's perimeter. A knight, a praetorian, and a hoplite. Three doors for three different groups, perhaps? Well, that notion was supported by the three different gatekeepers I saw as we at last reached a door to Arachna. This one was guarded by a knight just like Caridin, but with a helmet decorated by two eagle wings stretching out from the sides.

"Greetings, Caridin," the knight gatekeeper said as we stopped right outside the door. "Whence you came? T'was an hour ago that thou wast tasked to patrol. Wast thou distracted, or lost? Spiderhole takes time to learn and understand, so there be no shame in admitting such."

With an anxious clear of his throat, Caridin answered hesitantly, "Aye, ser Merturiel. I was lost again. This outside world, it irks me greatly. I beg thee understand that my eyes are used not to the soft glow of torches and the disorienting rock. Given a few more weeks, I promise thee that my sense of direction down here shall improve."

"Be at ease, my boy," the older knight chuckled. "Thine words confirm my suspicions, but as I said there is no shame in it. Yet, at least." Merturiel's eyes drifted over us with a kind, almost fatherly gaze. "And who be these two, Caridin? Serfs volunteering for duty to us knights, or thine friends?"

The junior knight's response was immediate as he cast Lampshade an irritated glare. "The former, sire. Definitely the former."

Merturiel caught the look and rose a brow in response. Then he clicked his tongue. "Well, we shan't turn away such generous and able-bodied ponies such as these. Take them inside, to our barracks. Give them some food and drink, and have them tend to the equipment."

The 'food and drink' part alone was enough to grab my attention. Sweet mercy, I hadn't had a proper meal in... oh, what, two days? And confirming my thought, my stomach let out the most ravenous growl I'd ever heard in my life. I flushed and folded my ears back as the others stared at me, and I could only reply with great self-consciousness, "I, uh, would appreciate the work, s-sire. And I thank you for the gift of your hospitality." More honestly, I added, "I've had precious little of that since I came out here. From anyone. I'm far from home and the only people who would care for me."

Merturiel nodded. "I understand. A new serf, then? Most of the other people here don't like the new serfs; or as the lot of them would call ye, 'slaves'. Too many of them, they say, but that Kabal fellow's insatiable desire for ponies is... astounding." His eyes glimmered with sudden remembrance. "And what dost thou know, thou seems to fit Kabal's description of a certain red pony. But thou can't be he, can thee? That pegasus was branded dead. Splattered on rocks, supposedly."

Now there was a question I couldn't answer straight away. The rags and tattered garments Caridin had lent us made me look sufficiently menial, as did the dirt and wounds I'd acquired over the past few days. The clothing also covered my wings. I supposed I looked just like any other wastelander. The knights thus far had shown themselves to be friendlier than most, if a bit irritable, though; could be trusted?

"Actually, sire, uh... that's why I brought these two here," Caridin said. I swallowed as he leaned close to his superior and whispered something into Merturiel's helmet. The senior knight's eyes widened.

When Caridin withdrew, Merturiel looked right at me. I saw his cheeks rise up within his helmet; clearly he was smiling. "That's twice now thou hast liberated thyself, pony. I'm impressed. Most would be content to simply be allowed to live if they were captured by strangers. But thou art clearly not content just to live. I see freedom is important to thee."

"Ah, it's important to everyone," I said bashfully, waving dismissively as I averted my gaze from the eyes of the senior knight.

"Well," Merturiel murmured, "Clearly not important enough for the lot of these people to fight for it." He stepped back towards the door and pounded an armored hoof onto it. A moment later the grating groan of the Stable door rising up resonated through the chamber, so loud as to draw sight from all nearby.

As the door rose, Merturiel stepped aside. The pure white light of fluorescent bulbs silhouetted him as the metal rose higher and higher. Then his shadowed form gestured within. "In with ye now, ye three. Caridin, take these two to ser Tavish. After they've had their fill, of course. He is in his study, as always."

"Yea, ser Merturiel," replied Caridin as he stepped forward, gesturing for us to come along. "Come now, ye two. Ser Tavish is the one to whom all thy queries may directed."

Lampshade and I glanced to each other, then looked to the entrance before us. He was nervous and uncertain; but I was excited, eager to step into another place like home. Or at least as close to home as I would probably ever get. If I was to do something about what was going on down here, rescue Vox and the legionaries, and eventually resurface to continue our mission, then this was the place to start.

With our mixed agenda, we entered Stable 8 Arachna.

Stable 8 Arachna was, to say the least, differently designed from my own home. Rather than possessing various levels dedicated to different tasks, Arachna was composed of only two main parts: the 'tower' -- the visible rod as seen from the stony caves of Spiderhole; and the main body, built beneath the rock of the caves. The tower was a high, wide chamber divided into three equal sectors; one for each of the three groups of knights, praetorians, and hoplites. Within each of the sectors were any facilities deemed a necessity by the groups, and attached to the appropriately-designed walls of each area were stairs leading up to two other floors.

Such was the tower. But it was within Arachna's main body itself where, according to Caridin, all the trainees for the three groups were housed and trained. The professionals of each faction lived within the tower of Arachna, and they acted as a peacekeeping force for all of Spiderhole. Thus it was, and thus it had been for the last century.

At least, that was what Caridin managed to tell me as we ascended the painted concrete steps of the knight's sector towards the second level, and all the while I listened intently. Once we reached our destination, however, all my attention was immediately stolen by the sight and smell of food. Exactly what Caridin spoke to my inattentive ears is uncertain -- perhaps it was a little speech about how we were to enjoy ourselves before meeting with ser Tavish? All I know is that I found myself right at the table the moment his voice ceased, and was digging my muzzle into the bowl without a care in the world aside from food.

"I say, I've not seen such ravenous hunger in nigh three years," Caridin commented as he watched Lampshade and I devour our salads like the starving ponies we were. Our meal was composed of bland lettuce, and within were tomatoes and olives that could have been days old. But at the time, and after all I'd gone through, I was just thankful to have something in my stomach. "Ye weren't lying when ye claimed ye hadn't eaten in days. That's the third serving."

Oh. Really, the third? Yes, it was... and the servings themselves were quite sizable, too! With some embarrassment, I took my muzzle out of the bowl and grinned sheepishly. "I hope not to impose. I followed my stomach's lead, but if there's a problem-..."

"Nay, nay," he cut me off, chuckling softly. "'Tis just an amusing sight. Reminds me of my training to become knight-brother to my fellows of the Court of Zebrica. Ser Merturiel was my mentor for most of my squirehood in becoming a Germane knight, see, and he often served me double servings. Said I needed more meat on my bones, he did."

"Well, I know I need more meat my bones," Lampshade laughed, chowing down on a lettuce leaf. Then he threw a cheeky smile Caridin's way as he said, "Say, you never did tell where the nearest bathroom was. Afraid my little friend will put yours to shame if you see it?"

Caridin groaned and rolled his eyes, suddenly looking annoyed all over again. I glared at Lampshade and kicked his leg under the table, making him yelp and jump.

"Huh, what? W-what?" he stammered, eyeing me confusedly. "Did I do something wrong?"

I just growled and shook my head, then looked to Caridin. "Please do excuse my hour-long companion. For all his giddiness and humor, he's a bit... nonchalant," I explained. Yes, I'd known Lampshade for just an hour, and already I was getting to know him quite well: good for a laugh and a smile, wonderful at parties -- just like Excluvius. But he could be, of course, highly inappropriate and downright stupid.

Caridin sighed. "Yes, I've noticed," he replied, softening his gaze as he looked back to us. "I'm simply not given to appreciate his attitude. There are more important, more dire things at stake, and all he can think of is relieving himself? Selfishness abounds."

Lampshade recoiled and brought a hoof to his chest, looking hurt. But then he just went back to eating his salad. "Well, I've not relieved myself in two days, so..." he muttered as he went back to his food, "Guess I'll just go to those rocks outside."

I grimaced. Ew. Okay, not a thought I liked to picture. "Things like what?" I asked, hoping to divert my mind from such imagery.

Caridin didn't respond at first; he just stared down at the cobblestone-patterned metal floor. Then he looked up, and sucked in a breath. "About two-thirds of the people here in Spiderhole are serfs. The first few to make their way into this underground complex were survivors from the war, you see. The fact that a significant number of people had taken shelter so close to Arachna drew the attention of the three factions bred within this Stable. Thus a meeting was held, nearly one-hundred years ago, that determined what we knights, praetorians, and hoplites were to do about the rabble knocking on our door and inhabiting the cultural bastion that was our charge. In the end, we decided cooperation would be best. The people became their own sovereign power, and formed its ruling body: the Committee, seated at the head of the spider. We thus protect our original charge, the cultural treasures of centuries past, and also them. In turn they submit to our authority and supply us with whatever we need."

I was listening intently again, and nodded at his tale. "Sounds like a good thing. The war destroyed so much. That a Stable dedicated to protecting Zebrica's culture also managed to form a thriving community around it is a wonderful circumstance. You must be proud for your part in it all."

He sighed. "I am, yes, but there is one problem that we have tolerated for too long, I think," he replied, and leaned forward on his seat. Lampshade himself now seemed interested; perhaps his stomach had been sated enough to allow his mind to take over. Now if he could just stop with the damn toilets...

Caridin clicked his tongue within his helmet. "It's slavery. Plain and simple," he said. "You yourselves have narrowly escaped it. It is rampant here in Spiderhole, and the worst part is we helped it come to be. For when we first met our newfound fellows, we decided to educate them on the culture of their lands. Many became interested, and when the Committee was formed they organized themselves by interest. Most went into tribal or medieval cultures, and dedicated themselves to using this place's resources to truly relive the life and times of their desired culture."

His eyes narrowed within his visor, looking tired. "We let it be, thinking it good. But we failed to see that many of these cultures proliferated slavery in one way or another. We failed to predict that they might try to emulate it. And so they turned on each other first, before the extremists of each group foraged resources from the surface. Resources such as people." Shaking his head, he continued disgustedly, "It became more commonplace when the Aeolian tribe found manticores. And as the practice grew, we left it alone because we were not to interfere with our own goal, to promote culture. Yet everyday I see new faces, miserable and confused, and immediately I know what happened to them. They were tricked. Captured by the schemes and traps created by the heartless among those outside these walls."

With a reproachful, self-scorning scoff he grumbled, "And all the while I keep telling myself I'm a knight, a champion of honor and chivalry. But I have no right to be one, because I have allowed the vices of others to trample the values I am uphold."

He sighed and planted his forelegs on the table, then laid his chin onto his hooves as he looked at us. Then he smirked. "Thus is the tragic tale of Spiderhole, good-community-gone-wrong. We who have authority are powerless to curb what is both degrading and natural to the cultures we helped ensconce. The... slaves... have become natural here. Too many of the mining and maintenance operations require them, so we can't simply stomp down on the practice. And those who find themselves here will realize that there is no escape except by the front door, the original entrance of this underground museum complex. But that is guarded and barred by the Committee, and only once a week does it open for the Aeolians to fly out and obtain resources. Their duty is to actively acquire more workers; the other would-be slaving tribes have grown to rely on them. They are empowered now, and any who try to cut them off will face the wrath of hundreds of slave-hungry tribals. Not even we are exempt."

With his tale finished, he fell silent. I was frozen, filled with lament that stormed within my mind like a raging typhoon. So I had not only escaped slavery, but also a tradition among at least one of the local groups, the Aeolians. And to think I had come so close. If I hadn't taken the risk of escaping, I could have been swept into a decades-long slaving operation. And the things that could've happened after...

"Well... that sure is something," Lampshade murmured, and cleared his throat. "Now we know. Hell of a history you got here. No offense, though, but no way am I letting anyone go this way again if I can stop them. When I get out of here, this place needs to be flagged as a hazard."

His statement drew Caridin's attention. "When you get out?"

"Yes. When," I confirmed, drawing his gaze. "We don't intend to stay down here, Caridin. The merchant up on the surface, Malek, has been trying to warn people off for some time now. He gave us these." I showed him my combat bracer. My only tool, and the only thing I had on me aside from the rags. "He hopes that someone will help end what's going on down here. I came out this way with a zony companion in the hopes of finding some others that were recently captured by that Kabal you speak of. But now that I know what's going on here, I can't simply find those I'm looking for and then leave. Not like we could, what with the exit being guarded. So I'm going to have to find some way to change what's going on here. One way or another."

Then came another voice, firm and clear, asking, "Truly now?"

We turned to the source of the sound, our eyes looking to the stairs leading up to the third and last floor of Arachna's tower. There on the steps we spotted another knight, with a red cape slung over his shoulder and with his helmet held securely against his chest. The zebra looking at us had his brows upraised, yet I sensed no incredulity over him. But there was a lordly presence in the air, increasing each second he looked us over.

Caridin stood straight up. "Ser Tavish. I was just about to have these two brought up."

The higher-ranking knight just waved Caridin an acknowledgement, keeping his focus on us. "Yes, I know. Merturiel messaged me about some visitors. I simply desired to go down and meet them." Tavish's eyes lingered over me in particular, and he smiled. "When I heard the descriptions of our guests, I just had to go and see them myself. Now I know for certain that this one is, in fact, Goldwreath of Marediolanon."

I was paralyzed right where I sat. "You... y-you know who I am?" I hadn't even told Caridin my name, and yet the knights' leader knew me?

"Oh yes," Tavish said simply as he trotted over and sat down, taking Caridin's seat as the junior knight stepped back with a bow. "Eckris spoke highly of you, as did Horus. Though I'm sure that wouldn't stop them from giving you an earful the next time you get within speaking distance of them." He smirked and shook his head. "But I won't judge. You left in the hopes of securing a future for your people, however damning the method. 'Traitor for a good cause', yes? That's what you told your friend. Me, I simply like to think of you as a... catalyst."

He looked at me as I sat there, staring, unable to fathom and process what had just been revealed to me. So Horus and Eckris now knew... and probably so did Dad... Mom... and Summer Sands, had he told them? Had he let it all out? Oh gods.

Lampshade, who'd wisely kept his silence in the advent of a topic he knew nothing of, finally said with a severely out-of-place cheery tone, "You know, I've no idea what's going on here! I'd love to be enlightened -- but not too enlightened so my soul transcends all mortal bounds and whatnot. I'll visit the temples if I want that."

"Goldwreath here belongs to a Stable, one that has recently been involved in a convoluted situation with the Legion," Tavish said simply. "You've been out in the wasteland, good ser. You must've seen how they have been assimilating every group with even the faintest connection to the Roaman government. Soon they will come here as well, and when that happens... well, suffice it to say the rabble outside will make the situation here far more complicated than it needs to be. I've no quarrel with the Legion, and I hope they'll realize that when they come. Of course, I can't speak for the hundreds occupying these tunnels."

I was seated still, breathing, processing. "I... no, my home, it..." I paused, collecting myself. "G-give me a moment... so, you know of me, and so you must know of them. Do you know what's going on there? After they found out, I mean?"

Tavish gave me a sorry look. "I apologize, but I would not interrogate my colleague. Eckris and I maintain a professional relationship; I felt prodding for any details not readily shared would aggravate him further. What I do know is that he was most distressed following the realization of your departure. There was an uproar of questions, so I heard. How the Legion will react, I do not know."

While I cast my gaze down, speechless, Caridin cleared his throat and chimed in, "Ser, if I may. I was there when you had your talk with praetor Eckris. I feel you may have forgotten about him telling you that despite the recent complications, Marediolanon still hopes our tunnel to them can be completed soon."

My eyes popped wide. "What?"

Tavish waved a hoof over the able, gesturing for calm. "Now, now, let's focus on one thing at a time. Yes, your praetor and the groups here have had the arrangement for a while now -- mutual cooperation and sharing of resources and all that. But I did not forget that bit, Caridin, and I simply hope that Eckris understands that we're quite busy here as well. Much has been happening in Spiderhole as of late. Like a bomb with a fuse, it feels like it will explode. A change is coming, and we guardians of this place need to make sure it is a change beneficial for most."

He looked over Lampshade and I, eyes focusing on us both intently. "I understand you two wish to be free of this place. Good, and more importantly you want change. So do we. As the catalysts we've long been hoping for, I think you could help us. You may have many questions, and the news of your little 'discreet adventure' being discovered so soon has no doubt hit you, Goldwreath. So I ask this: will you stay here for a while and help us? The surface world is changing. The eagles of Roam are snatching up what they believe is theirs, and we of this Stable will not antagonize them. Sadly those outside these walls won't exactly win the Legion's favor with their... practices. They must be removed or changed, and before the eagles come this way. We'd like to learn from the mistakes of many and accept the Roaman government without hassle. There is no point hampering progress with petty convolutions."

"I'm all for that," Lampshade replied, smiling faintly. "Hell, if it means people can stop living in hovels and caves and hollowed out husks of buildings, I'm up for whatever civilization the Legion wants to bring. I'm game. Let's change this place into something other than an organized slaving capital," Lampshade said, and grinned, "Besides, I'm guessing it'd be easier getting out of here afterwards. No point charging the gates when they'll just gun me down with... with guns."

Tavish nodded. "Good. We will find you a disguise suitable for you. And you, Goldwreath?"

I licked my lips, letting out a deep sigh. "Yes... yes, of course. You'll just have to excuse me if I seem tense. All of this... I didn't expect any of it. I wanted to go somewhere and then get back home. All this? This is more than I expected."

Tavish smirked as he stood. "Well, the journey beats the destination, as they say. But don't worry. I'll answer as many questions as I can and do all that can be done for your reputation with your home. You are a doer, Goldwreath, and doers achieve greater things by shrugging off more shackles than most. That you be punished for following your nature is an injustice I hope does not befall you."

Injustice... that reminded me. "Wait," I said as Tavish turned to leave. He stopped and turned. "I came here with a zony. He may be a bit... odd. Have you seen him, by any chance?"

"Does he go by the name Vox Populi?"

"Why... yes, actually. That's... his name." He'd actually told them his name was Vox Populi? He was learning, then.

"Then yes. He's with Kabal, your would-be master. I'm sorry, but that's all I know. He's probably being made to juggle, knowing that tribal fetishist..." Tavish muttered.

But he was at least alive. Now if only the same could be said for Audrius and the others. Still, "Thank you," I said as I stood up as well. Then I smiled. "And I hope that by the time this is all over, this place will be better than it is now."

"It will be," he nodded. "It will be, or we will all be damned for allowing such evil to thrive further." Tavish made a turning motion once again, but stopped abruptly as he faced the stairs going down. Then he smiled. "Ah, come here, girl. Don't be shy; meet our guests. Remember, you need to work on your anxiety if you hope to triumph over it."

As he said these words, a pony mare slowly trotted up from the stairs below. Her steps were so shaky and tiny it was a wonder she was moving at all. Caridin snickered at her approach, but she had my focus -- she and her light-grey coat and bright-blue eyes, and her black mane and tail, and her cutie mark of a shield-shaped fog concealing a shrouded figure. And as she stepped up beside the knight leader, rubbing one foreleg with the other in trembling anxiety, I realized she had my attention not because she was odd, or because she was strange. She had it because she was the most beautiful mare I'd ever seen in my life, and I could only stare.

"Introduce yourself, now," Tavish said encouragingly. "Remember, it's all in the introduction."

The mare lifted her face from the floor and looked us over nervously from behind her falling mane. Biting her lower lip, she tried to speak, but her voice cracked. Then she swallowed. I felt my heart rate escalate to speeds I'd never felt before as she slowly, shyly said, "Hello. Pleased to meet... to meet you. I-I'm Myst."

Entry #6
Grandpa Abernathus got stuck in maintenance again. How does he get stuck in there even when the place is undergoing renovation? The whole damn door was replaced with a solid wooden board warning people to not go in. Well, he's out now after I broke it down. Now he's calling me his personal Door Breaker. I'm flattered, but I'd really like not to do that again.

You can forcibly break down any doors of the Easy and Very Easy lock levels, provided you have any one of the following:

Explosives, hammers, battering rams, or a sufficient amount of Strength.