Act 2 Verse 1
Three Weeks Later
I couldn’t get a wink of sleep, not that the trundling of the wagon would’ve allowed me to have it for long. The air was rife with the musk of stallions in sweat-stained armor, as well as that mild hint of rot that comes with these old models. Rain pattered against the thin wooden side, making it surprisingly noisy, further adding to anyone’s inability to catch some shut eye. The ride had taken up most of the day, but it felt even longer than that. Being stuck in an enclosed space with nothing to do and only a small lantern for lighting messes with your sense of time.
A shift and shudder in the wheels signals that this void in time has finally come to an end. In about a minute the wagon comes to a complete stop, and a few moments later there’s a banging at the door. A guard pushes it open, then they all get up and start filing out, the splashing of water reaching my ears. One guard stays behind to herd me out, away from the relative comfort of the wagon and out onto wet, muddy ground. And rain on top of that; lovely. At least I got this cloak for some modest cover.
It’s pitch black out here, but there’s some flickering light in the distance, which is where the guards corral me to. After a little march we get in full view of the light, which is two large torches placed at either side of one very big, very ancient, very ominous pair of metal doors set into the side of an equally imposing mountain. Even in the poor lighting I can make out the faded etchings, runes, depictions of times forgotten by much of history. An entrance to a domain no upstanding, sane, or contemporary citizen or creature should ever have the misfortune of being in the presence of: The Gates of Tartarus.
The captain of this escort (you can tell by the large flashy feather on his helm) approaches me and tugs at the shackles on my wrists with his magic. “Up front and center with you. They’re gonna want a look.”
I step forward and let him lead me the rest of the way up to the gates. The mountain provides relief from the rain, but by now my cloak is thoroughly soaked, and it’s starting to get chilly. We head up to the rightmost torch, where a guard booth is carved into the rock to the right. And situated in that booth is a guard, naturally. But not one that I would have expected.
A horned, triangular head atop a very long, slender, smooth-scaled neck, which is bent forward to allow a pair of dazzling red, slitted eyes to look over… a magazine? Looked to be some sort of fashion mag judging by the bright colors and fancy fonting. Makes sense given the polish on the razor sharp claws holding it carefully open.
One of those eyes looks up, and upon spotting us the black dragon lets out something of a pleased gasp before putting down its reading material and lowering its head at us.
“Ponies? This is certainly a pleasant surprise!” A female guard dragon. It just gets more surprising. “Have you come to visit? Oh ho ho, of course you haven’t. Just my little joke there.” And a very gossipy, friendly one at that. “Anyway, can you please state your business for coming out here this dreadful night?”
“We’ve come to drop off a prisoner,” the captain announces, nodding his head at me. The lady dragon stretches her neck forward until the tip of her snout presses against mine, the warm breath of her nostrils softly touching me. Even with my hood on I know she’s able to get a good gander at me, and in hardly a moment she pulls back.
“A young dragon; well isn’t that something. Kind of a runt, though, but such adorable cheeks! Uh-hum. What is the prisoner’s crime?”
“For threatening to disrupt the harmony of the realm through acts of violence performed in dire excess.” A glow from his saddlebags and a scroll flies out. “The charges are listed here accordingly.”
He levitates the scroll up to the dragon, who pinches it and daintily opens and unrolls it. Though the handwriting must be miniscule to her, she reads it over nevertheless.
“Dire charges indeed. Very well: the prisoner’s crimes are hereby deemed permissible to be punished by the encompassing, inescapable maw of Tartarus. Just let me get the door so you can be well on your way to some place far cozier and warmer.”
To everyone’s surprise the dragon slithers up and out of the booth like a snake, coiling and meandering up to the door before standing up and looking like a regular dragon again. Three times my height, and a powerful set of black wings on her. Has something of a serpentine-like figure. She brings up a claw to her mouth, then poofs out a small orb of black flame. Waving it around before the door, she creates a smouldering sigil that hangs in the air a moment before flaring out into smoke. The earth trembles and there’s a gargantuan groan, and before us we see the great iron doors move inward at a tectonic pace. Eventually they come to a stop, revealing the vast darkness within. Maw, indeed.
Looking to us, she waves a claw and says, “I’ll escort the prisoner inside. You little things just scurry back where you came from before you catch a cold. Thanks for visiting Tartarus!”
The guards just turn and march off stoically. Rather cold of them, but the she-dragon doesn’t seem to notice as she looks down at me and gently pats my back.
“Come come. It’s a bit of a walk to the prison proper, but I’ll guide you the whole way, little one.”
Beams me a sharp smile, right as I begin walking in with her at my side. Inside, lines of torches light up on either wall, revealing a very long, seemingly endless cave. The doors start groaning closed after we’re in a ways, after which my escort gets to talking again.
“Would you like me to introduce myself to help pass the time?”
“Sure.”
“Splendid! My name is Campe, and as you’ve seen I serve as Guard to the Gates of Tartarus. And I know that you’re Spike, and from what I’ve read in that scroll you’ve been very busy among the ponies. Killing all kinds of creatures, assassinating dignitary types, no doubt causing all sorts of fear and panic. I haven’t seen another of my kind for who-knows-how-long, but you certainly don’t come off as a violent marauder to me.”
“That’s nice of you to say; I try to hide it best I can. But I’m wondering why Cerberus isn’t guarding the gates. Not that you’re doing a bad job of it. If anything, you’re making it a delight.”
“Oo hoo hoo hoo, you’re so sweet in saying that, thank you so much! You see what I mean about you? Anyway, management decided to change things up a bit with how Tartarus needed to be guarded. Hardly anyone comes around these past couple generations, and it’s been three centuries since the last escape attempt, so they felt a watchdog wasn’t needed nowadays. So they decided to try a standard guard, which was me!”
“You got hired from somewhere or..?”
“Oh no, I’m very much a prisoner here. Did similar things to what you’ve done: ravaged the countryside, set fire to homes and fields, devoured the hardy and brave and so on. I had some severe anger issues in my early days, but being trapped beneath a mountain with other fiends calmed me down immensely, funny enough. Wound up getting this position because of good behavior. Managed to hail a passing griffon to bring me any newspapers, magazines and pamphlets that had gotten lost in the mail. It’s amazing how much the world has changed since I first got locked up.”
“Good behavior, huh? That mean they’re gonna let you out soon?”
“Oh no no no no, no. Everyone sent to Tartarus is a prisoner forever. They affixed a special seal on me before letting me up here, so that if I even tried flapping up more than thirty feet my wings would pop off and my heart would explode.”
“Yeesh. That’s harsh.”
“A little. But at least I get some fresh air, watch the changing weather, learn about the latest world events and fashions, and even try my claw at poetry. I just need to find some ink and parchment. Oh and look at that we’re here!”
She comes to a stop before the lip of a really, really massive hole in the ground. We just stepped into a very large, domed chamber, lit up by a ring of torches on the bare cavern walls. Apart from them and the hole, there’s nothing else.
“A little trivia: Tartarus is shaped like one gigantic oubliette. At least the main holding area anyway. Are you familiar with oubliettes?”
“I played a few games of Ogres & Oubliettes as a kid, so I’m a little familiar.”
“Then you know must know its very design makes escape quite impossible. Sure, one can try flying up here, but this place has plenty of safeguards against those kinds of escapes.”
“I see. And how exactly does one get down there to begin with?”
A firm push is my answer.
“Enjoy your eternity of penance!”
I bet she’s waving happily as I plummet into the abyss.
I sputter a breath into the dirt as I regain consciousness. Lying facedown, front half feeling immeasurably sore. Guess I finally got me that nap I’ve been wanting, albeit being too damn short. But at least it beats being splattered on some rocks. Actually, how am I still in one piece? That was a long fall.
The sounds of two approaching sets of feet turn my thoughts back to more important matters.
“It came from over there.”
“Whatchu think id is? Sum foods?”
“They never toss any food down here, you moron.”
“Ise just hungry.”
“You’re always hungry you worthless sack.”
I force my head up, and I see the two, uh… “gents” that have come to check on me. To my right appears to be a really tall brown goat, only he’s standing on two legs and the other two jut out into palms with fingers. Kinda like a scrawny dimestore minotaur… only more goaty. On my left is a sizable heap of muscle, like some kind of massive gorilla. Except he’s completely hairless, is wearing a loincloth (thank gods) and has… one singular bulging eye set above a gaping, mostly toothless mouth. Though to be honest, their respective smells was the second thing I picked up on. Guess showers aren’t part of this prison (which might be a good thing…).
“See? It’s just fresh meat,” says the satyr to his humungoid partner.
“You says it’s nots foods, Sal.”
“And it isn’t! I mean this is another sod that’s been dumped here to rot with the rest of us.”
“Ohhhhhhhhhh…” Cyclops scratches his chin with a dirty fingernail, then asks, “Cans I still eats it?”
“I can hear everything you’re saying, you know.”
The two of them look down at me, then to each other, then satyr dude gives one of those weird goat chuckles before squatting to leer his crooked face over me.
“Conscious already? Then listen up: I would have no have problems letting my pal Poly here gobble you up so he’d shut his damn yap about being hungry, but we’re under orders to bring any newcomers to camp. So count yourself lucky it’s us who found you. Food is scarce down here, and not everyone is as considerate to newbies.”
“That’s mighty swell of you.”
He makes a “Baah” at that, then straightens back up and looks to his partner. “Help me get our new friend here to the boss.”
“Oh uh uh, rights. Don wanna make da boss angry.”
One hairy hand and one meaty hand take me by the shoulders (good thing my cloak’s still on) and pull me up onto my feet. They start dragging me along, so I get my feet working and stay in line with them as I’m brought into Tartarus proper.
More torches set into the separate cave walls, which eventually widen out considerably into a far larger interior. It’s truly stygian in terms of scale and structure, like some massive hole gutted out from the depths of the earth and left to fester. Nasty outcroppings all around, and equally nasty stalactites hanging all around the parts of the ceiling that are visible in the firelight. Interestingly enough, there are little dots of yellow light bobbing around in the infinite darkness above, like fireflies or even will o’wisps. As my new chums keep pulling me along I eventually see something to break from the bleakness (somewhat): artificial structures, and the sounds of (rowdy) life.
Downward over uneven ground we go, till we reach the border of a ramshackle settlement. Nothing but a bunch of huts made from mud, rocks, rotted wood and heavens know what else. There’s creatures milling about aimlessly around pools of stagnant cave water (at least I hope it’s water). I see a grizzled minotaur, a dire boar, an emaciated lamia, pigmies waddling about with tiny spears (one getting gobbled by the aforementioned lamia). High above there are winged, feathered abominations screeching and clawing at one another, occasionally making blood rain upon some of the roofs (nice touch). More of those yellow lights overhead, but they're close enough so that I can see they're actually butterfly-looking carrying around little torches over everything, sprinkling some kind of incense through the air. Almost makes this hellhole look festive.
It’s nostalgic seeing these forgotten creatures of yore. Gone a tad savage, though.
I’m taken to the center of this “village”, where a good number of the locals look to be passing the time with games: cards, dice, and what even looks like checkers. But from the piles of metal and bone (I think they’re bone) bits kept close to them and the way one of those one-eyes socks his opponent into the dirt, I say they play for keeps. Bet she’d love to get on this action. Probably put up some streamers and punch for good measure.
At the center of this gambling ring is an arrangement of benches and tables, all overseen by some hideous thing with several pairs of eyes and what looked to be over twenty arms. Probably why it’s playing dealer for seven games at once, including one held at the nicest table I’ve seen so far… which more or less amounts to a cheap plastic poker table (but with stone).
It’s occupied with some voluptuous nymphs, dryads, and a scruffy dog sort. At the head of the table is someone in a ragged orange tunic missing the sleeves, which shows off his slick, scaled arms and hands. His head is full of shimmery, greasy locks, and his chin has a very douchey soul patch. Someone I know I’m immediately going to dislike.
Looks to be the big kahuna.
“Hey boss, we brought something for ya,” my goat escort announces.
Called it.
“I’m in the middle of something here, Saulos. Go toss it over on the heap and bleat off.”
“It’s someone new that got dumped down here.”
Soul patch snaps his eyes up and slams down his cards. “Why didn’t you say that first, idiot? Show me the latest menace to join our ranks!”
My escorts pull me forward up to the edge of the table, at which point all eyes there are on me (including the dealer’s dozen).
“Well pull the hood back, dumbasses! I can’t see shit with that on!”
Goaty pulls away my hood, revealing my bare head to the group. A slight “oooh” from some nymphs, but nothing else in the way of sounds. Boss man claps and rubs his hands together.
“Hot damn, do my eyes deceive me? A bonafide dragon; there hasn’t been one dumped here in ages. That’s one hell of a find to brighten up this dank-ass miserable day, boys. Kinda shrimpy, though. And something of a baby face.”
“Can kick your ass just fine.”
“He even talks! Double bonus: a sentient dragon for my roster! Last couple of dragons tossed down here were feral, completely useless. Had to snap the neck of the one that tried to go wild on my turf here, but I don’t see me having that problem with you, little guy. So, you got a name? I know you dragons have names. All honor and shit, y’know?”
“...”
“...Now you want to zip it. That’s cool; don’t like people running their mouths. On that note, here’s a set of ground rules for coming here to Tartarus.” The head douche stands up from his seat, planting his scaled hands on the table surface, trying to look intimidating. Please, he’s only half a head taller than me. “First and foremost, my name is Ty. I’m called the Father of Monsters, cuz given all the pussy I’ve had while on the surface, I guarantee you most of the freaks dumped here are my descendents. And I can whip the mouth off anyone that tries to backtalk me. As such, I’m the one in charge of this hellhole and I keep these wretches and crazies in line. I call the shots here, so you best remember that.”
A truly humble soul.
“With all that said, I'm always looking for new additions to my crew of cutthroat badasses. This cesspit is crawling with freaks, deviants, and all kinds of indecent nasties, but if you stick with me and my boys, you'll have yourself a cozy slice of Hell to hole up in.”
He starts moving around the table. “The choicest scraps, your pick from my personal stable of bitches.” He caresses the chin of a water nymph in passing. “Or if you’re a fudge-packer I got dudes aplenty. I don’t judge. And of course you get some decent shelter and protection among my ruthless band. Enforcing some order in this hole, get some kicks rather than wander around like those scrubs you saw on your way here. It's really win-win; sure as hell beats fending for yourself out there in the dark with the true crazies.”
Ty gets right up to me and lowers his face to mine. Gods his breath is rank. Also I see that soul patch of his, and even all of his hair is made of scales. He makes one ugly, smug smile at me.
“So whaddya say, slick? Interested in having a bearable internment?”
I heabutt that slimy face, sending him reeling.
“I'll take my chances.”
“Gah, goddammit; that fuckin’ hurt!” He rubs his face, trying to regain his composure. His dim yellow eyes are looking fierce, but he's missed a spot of blood under his nose. “Punk bastard, are ya? Well fine. I don't waste time dealing with asshats. You still hungry, Poly?”
“Uhhh, yuh?”
“Then eat up; little shit’s all yours. And save a few bones for my collection.”
“Guuhh, sure ting, boss.”
The cyclops backs away to reach down to the back of my skull, but he barely forms a grip on it before I rip my claws from my shackles and shoot a fist into his lowered eye. He clutches it and stumbles about wailing like a scared child; probably shouldn’t have lowered your head when reaching for me, bub. The satyr comes at me but I punch him straight in the face, and before anyone else does anything I grab my cloak and throw it off. As it flutters I immediately reach behind me, take hold of the hilt and slice through the cloth before me.
The cloak falling away in tatters, everyone present is able to see the no-nonsense dragon in the killer black jacket, snappy white undershirt, and the stainless length of lethal metal gleaming in the low light. And for good measure, I show them the difference a set of well-maintained pearly whites can do to a menace’s smile.
“Come get some.”