//------------------------------// // 3: It's time to d-d-d-duel! // Story: Halls of the Changeling King // by Nameless Narrator //------------------------------// Staring into the black nozzle of the flamethrower, and expecting it to quickly become brighter than the sun, I’m surprised my legs aren’t crumbling under me. ”Scream, haaaalp!” ”Wait, did you get all the way here by telling others to do something instead of doing it yourself?” Huh... ”MORE OR LESS!” ”Alright, alright then. My advice is… make yourself less flammable.” ”I WANT THREE BAAAAACK! Well, no. Right now I want One or Eight back.” ”And I want my fun,” Scream pouts, ”Do something amusing.” Stupid. Gold. Unhelpful. Horse. The fact that she’s right about me being about as useful as a chocolate teaspoon only makes it worse. Alright. Breathe in, breathe out. Infiltrate. What have you learned from your best infiltrators? “Bzz, bzz, I’m a- no, scratch that,” I sit down, and cross my forelegs on my chest. This way I look harmless, and it’s not as if I could outrun a ball of fire from this close, ”Scream, their whole language sounds like One choking on globs of goo-” ”Booo, missed dick joke opportunity!” she’s now waving her hoof in front of one of the dwarf helmet’s letterbox slot for eyes. Fine, I can see I’m in this one alone. ”-so translate that I think his mother was a fine lady.” ”Abita jockamo aass juleol.” “A-Abita jockamo aass juleol,” spurred on by Scream’s last mistranslation, I do my best to repeat the phrase as accurately as possible. Both dwarves freeze completely, and I can pretty much feel the eyes hidden by the helmet narrow. From the corner of my own, I see Scream rolling on the floor, choking back laughter with one hoof. “PILSNER URQUELL STAROPRAMEN!” the dwarf roars, raising his axe. “Ayinger brau-weisse, ayinger brau-weisse!” the flamethrower dwarf stops the axe bearer by grabbing his tail with his teeth while not letting the flamethrower nozzle connected to his foreleg move an inch. The furiously swinging axe whistles repeatedly a short distance away from my nose. ”Do I even want to know what you translated this time?” I lean just a little bit away from the gradually slowing down dwarf. Scream forces her gasping for breath under control, and wipes a tear from her eye. ”You’re not pinning this one on me, buggy boy,” she snickers again, ”It’s your fault for stuttering. You said his mother was a fine laddie, not lady. I whimper as I feel my eye twitch again. This is going to be a long day. ”Okay, let’s get back to basics. How do I say I’m sorry?” ”You can say that in ponish. I’m sure he’ll get the meaning while you scream as he chops you up.” The dwarf seems to have calmed down, and jumps back behind the barricade while the other one is still keeping an eye on me. “Ahh?!” I jump backwards when a thrown wooden table lands in front of me. The angry dwarf returns with a backpack containing… two small metal cups and a bottle? “Dos equis!” he sits down by the table, growling. ”What is he-” “DOS. EQUIS,” he repeats. ”I don’t always fight, but when I do, it’s a duel of honor,” translates Scream, ”I completely forgot that these guys used to settle all their internal struggles with drinking contests.” ”You’re kidding...” ”He CAN chop your head off if you refuse. I wasn’t joking when I said dwarf ponies were the best warriors around. This is just the preferred way of settling disputes. The loser passes out while the winner wobbles home with his honor restored or whatever point they were trying to make proven.” I’m already sitting down to the other side of the table. The furious metal bucket pours some clear liquid into both cups, and shoves one to me. “Drax!” ”Drink.” ”Yeah, I think I got that one.” After some careful examination of the tear-inducing liquid, I look at the dwarf who takes his helmet off. He does look like an earthpony scaled down, similar to the broodmare I found, discounting the long, bushy beard. In one quick swig, he downs his drink, glaring at me expectantly. ”Eugh,” Scream sniffs the cup, ”See you tomorrow if you don’t go blind. This stuff could clean stained glass.” Oh, great hole in the sky, what did I do to deserve this? I should have joined the invasion and died like a good drone. Is this karma? Welp, time to bite the bullet. Or drink the paint stripper, to be accurate. “Hmmm…” I smack my lips, “Tastes faintly of apples. Not bad, actually.” My ‘opponent’ pours another for both of us, scowling. Then he totals his cup again. With a shrug, I drink my own portion. The dwarf’s eyes narrow even further, making it obvious why such tiny slot in their helmets is sufficient. The flamethrower dwarf, however, lowers his foreleg a little. When another round ends with a third of the bottle gone, I only feel a little warmer, and the second dwarf is now eagerly watching the ‘duel’, weapon lowered completely. After the second third of the bottle, the fire dwarf’s helmet is off, and he stomps his steel-plated hoof against the table when each round is done, while the insulted one is visibly swaying from side to side, mumbling things so slurred that Scream can’t even translate. I guess it’s up to me to pour the drinks now. I know how it goes. Suddenly, the dwarf keels on his back like an overturned turtle, moving his legs in the air in slow motion. “Dinkel… acker… dark… franz... iskaner… waiss...bier...” he passes out. Or dies, I can’t be sure, really. His companion doesn’t look bothered, though. ”He said - hey, the five of you can’t be dwarves,” Scream puts her incorporeal hoof on my nose, then looks me in the eyes, ”Are you okay? I’m pretty sure that a normal pony would be melting if they drank as much as you did.” ”I don’t feel any different, really. A bit warmer and full, but nothing bad.” ”Note to self - avoid girls’ drunk night out with Chryssie.” “Gaffel kolsch,” the surviving dwarf shakes his head, pokes me, then tosses both the table and his colleague back behind the barricade. These guys really are strong. ”You win.” ”Scream, how do I ask where some food and water is?” ”By their standards, water is for cleaning, not drinking. Ask for beer. It goes ‘Jasne zamkove svijany kulmbacher pils’. I’d be worried about you messing it up again, but after seeing you drink I’m toying with the possibility that you could ‘slay’ half of their armed forces.” “Jasne zamkove svijany kulmbacher pils?” ”Good bug. See? You’re getting the hang of it. Here, have a reward butt,” she swings her wide hips right in front of my face, flicking her tail through my head. My breathing quickens immediately. I have to look away not to lunge at her, or more likely through her at the dwarf. ”Shoo! Shoo! Bad sluticorn!” ”Hmmm… getting more receptive. I like that,” with a wink -OF AN EYE, you perverts- Scream trots off to look at the now snoring victim of our duel. “Klaster lager la chouffe la rossa kaiser kirin ichiban,” answers the sober, probably, sentry. ”It’s left from the armory 3a, right from the armory 3b, and across from the armory 3c.” ”They’re big on metalwork and drinking, aren’t they?” ”Understatement of the century,” chuckles Scream. ”So, how do I ask where the armory is?” I look Scream’s way while being let inside the barricade. “Aas juleol,” the dwarf points down the long corridor, then waves his foreleg to the left, “Bucking bock.” ”Did he just swear at me?” ”No, he said that the armory was that way, and that it’s close.” “Thank you,” I say absent-mindedly, and head off the way he showed. “Butty bach,” he sits down as if the entire episode didn’t happen. ”You’re welcome.” Mhm. ”Three, two, one-” I hear Scream count down to something. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait! ”He understood what I was saying?” ”-zero,” Scream gives me a smug grin, then returns to examining the little marks and plaques I can now see marking each long tunnel. This place must be built like a grid, but unless there are only few dwarves living in the underground complex we must be on the outskirts of their… city, town, thingy, ”Yep. Anyway, this is the pantry,” she stops by a door identical to any other, only marked with a different set of angular slashes in the stones above. Shrugging, I push the handle. Not too surprisingly, it’s locked, jammed, stuck, and won’t budge. Before Scream can sneer at me again, I spit at the lock. Melting something is a changeling thing if ever I saw one- *BOOOOOOM!* I find myself lying on my back, coughing dust and smoke, my mane smoldering and burning. As the acrid air clears up, I see that instead of a quietly melted lock there’s a hole with strewn remains of wood all around and reinforcing metal ribbing bent out of shape. “What the hole?” I croak, standing back up and quickly rushing through the obliterated doorway, “Scream? What did I do?” ”How should I know? I thought you were a changeling, not half-dragon.” The storage room is filled with shelves stocked with bread, cheese, mushrooms, weird mosses, and other blobs I don’t recognize. Unfortunately, as far as drinks are concerned, apparently the smallest dwarven measure of beer is a barrel. The good thing is that there are some half-empty bags of flour into which I pack the recognizable food, and with Scream’s advice I load the barrel onto my back in a way that holds the sack hanging from my side. It’s quite the exercise, balance-wise, but as Eight would surely say - I need the practice. The small dwarf mare body is tough as nails, though, so it’s not too bad. What goes through my head when I walk through the web of corridors, occasionally spotting a dwarf walking in the distance, is what happened with the explosion. Could it be something resulting from the bottle of alcohol harmlessly stored in my not-really-dwarvish stomach, and my attempt at spitting corrosive goo? I gotta test that later somewhere safe, but now I just need to avoid any contact with anyone until I’m safely back in the vents. Avoiding the sentry post I entered the dwarven tunnels through, I try to get out via parallel hallways, and on the fifth attempt I find an unguarded one. Afterwards, it doesn’t take long to return to the humongous bridge, and… “I was hoping that if I didn’t think about the problem for long enough it would go away,” I look up into the darkness, then down at my cargo lying on the floor. ”Buzz those wings, buggy,” Scream flaps her own, already on her way to the ceiling. The spider climbing won’t work with so much added weight, so I shapeshift back into myself. The good thing is that I’m not being chased this time, so I have a good opportunity to learn to use my wings properly over the course of many bumpy minutes. In the end, though, I’m pretty sure I can haul both the sack and the barrel all the way up, if only one by one. With logistics sorted, I find myself in the ‘base’ not so long after. The minotaur hasn’t moved, and neither has the broodmare, which means my presence before didn’t trigger anything. ”Such a ghetto setup,” comments Scream, giving the place a once over again, ”And after we saw proper civilization. Well, it’s time for the big question. Do you use them? Alone inside enemy territory, without love or assistance, myself excluded.” ”So, without love or assistance,” I chuckle when Scream’s head snaps towards me to show I don’t really mean it, ”Uhh, no, I don’t think I should be using either of them. The love from the cocoon will last me for a while, especially since I didn’t waste any fighting, and… uhh, I’m not exactly, umm, experienced at making more changelings, well, from my own initiative, even if there’s a broodmother ready and willing right in front of me.” ”Wait, what?” she pauses, as if listening to something, ”Oh… heh… heheh...” she burst out laughing, ”Right, right, I completely forgot. Dragged him by his legs into a cellar, really?” I raise my eyebrow. Am I missing something? ”Scream?” ”Okay, okay, okay, I’m okay,” her laughter turns into deep breathing, ”So why don’t you use her just for fun? You must be pretty pent up after all this time in the cocoon, and then around me.” I look at the broodmare, then at Scream, then back at the dwarf, and back at Scream again. ”Seriously? Come on, even with shapeshifting it would be like tossing a carrot into a crater.” Scream frowns, craning her neck under my barrel, then to the mare. ”Hmm, true. She does look as if she gave birth to a dragon few times over.” “The venom keeps her muscles relaxed, that’s why she hasn’t returned to her normal shape,” I speak out normally to avoid draining love through hive link communication, no matter how minor it is. I should have been doing that as soon as we left the dwarf areas in the first place, “I need to know what happened, so I have to wake her up. I think it’ll be smarter than starting with the minotaur.” Biting her would is unnecessary, so after focusing for a moment to create the antivenom, I let a green drop loose into her mouth. If the venom wasn’t this faded already, it would take much longer, but like this we have to wait only a few minutes before the mare’s leg twitches, and she croaks something through her dry throat. “Damn it, how do I open this?” I examine the heavy barrel I brought. ”There should be a circular spot for the tap somewhere on the bottom.” “Right,” on reflex, instead of shapeshifting, a thin spike of green fire erupts from my hoof only for a second and pierces the spot Scream pointed out. Brown liquid starts trickling out, and I push the barrel towards the mare, aiming it into her mouth. I let her slowly lap it with her tongue until she turns her head away. ”Put it upside-down,” says Scream immediately. When I do so, the beer stops flowing. “Ughh...” the mare tries in vain to push herself away from me, her atrophied legs barely moving. I sit down by her head, and help the whimpering mare sit up. Her lack of effective resistance helps in that regard. “Shhh, shhh,” I stroke her mane until she stops trembling. “...etaller… dunkler… doppelbock...” ”You’re like the wine one,” Scream sits down. I don’t need any time for recollection. ”Eight. Definitely.” ”Not a gentle mare, is she?” ”If something stands between her and her goal, definitely not. She prefers biting and punching to diplomacy.” ”Brute.” ”You DO sound like One.” “Can you understand me?” I ask slowly. She nods, making me smile internally. These dwarves, even if Scream thought they were all gone, must have some contact with the surface, otherwise they’d know only their gravel-crunching language, “I’m not going to hurt you, but I need to know what happened.” “...gosser...” she whispers, weakly dragging her foreleg onto her belly. ”It hurts.” “That’s the venom fading. You were in a horrible shape.” She shakes her head. “...gouden… gosser...” ”Full. Hurts.” “Oh hole...” I put my forehead to her flabby belly. Indeed, I can feel a tiny spark of life inside her, “I thought this bulge was natural, but there’s an egg still inside her. A still feeding one. She’s so weak she can’t push it out.” ”Amateur gynecologist, go!” the alicorn cheers. ”SCREAM!” I snarl at her, ”Her life’s in danger!” To my surprise, she backs off and turns her head away. “Okay, I’m really sorry, but this will hurt, I think. Just try to relax,” with a deep breath from both of us, the most manual birth of all time begins as I try to raise her up, and slowly push the egg downwards. Her looseness helps again, and with her hissing and gritting her teeth, we manage to get the egg out. It feels completely ready, so I try something I haven’t done in this new body yet - transfer love. The spark of life blazes instantly. The egg shakes, followed by the widening eyes of the dwarf mare, and immediately a small mouth munches a hole in its side. Huh, this is the first time I’m seeing high-tier changeling eyes on a grub, and if there still was any remaining doubt about who the parent was, the dark green eyes of Chrysalis and Eight herself give the definite answer. The grub blinks, gurgles its leech-like mouth at me, and resumes devouring the egg at meteoric speed. The flame of life inside it burns so bright for an egg that had to lie dormant for so long, or maybe the larva is compensating because of that. The egg is gone much faster than any other I’ve seen before, and the tiny creature worms its way towards my leg, and shimmies up on my hoof. ”You know, it’s utterly disgusting and adorable at the same time. The mother agrees, apparently.” The sweaty dwarf tries to push herself away again as I show the lively larva to her. “Shhh...” I carefully plop the newhatched onto her chest. She twitches, squinting at the larva crawling up to her neck, its miniature mouth pulsating… ...where it curls up, lets out the softest yawn, and closes its eyes. To my shock, the mare pushes it off with surprising gentleness, rolls over onto her side, and presses the grub against her chest with both her forelegs. The two soon begin snoring together. ”Maternal instinct trumps everything, they say,” comments Scream, ”Maybe I should give it a shot at some point.” “This… I’ve never seen anything like this before,” I shake my head, “Broodmares back in the hive were just braindead breeding machines, their minds rewired for only one purpose by the infiltrators. I never knew they could… love us like this. When I was with my little hive, they loved us as an attraction, as friends, and they lusted for us… some of us. WE loved each other. This is completely new to me.” ”That makes two of us. What about the minotaur?” “With those two asleep, maybe I can ask him something. I’d rather not dig through someone’s head without permission or guidance from an experienced changeling. Although, can’t you help, patron saint or whatever?” ”I physically can’t. I could use magic to visualize what’s happening like I did before you woke up, but I can’t advise you on how to use your body and mind’s natural instincts. I’m not a changeling, and I’ve never changed species into one. Now if you want to know how it feels when DRAGONS lay dozens of clutches spawned from the seed of an entire brood… her eyes glaze over for a moment, Aaah… good times.” “As interesting as your sex life must be, I think I’d rather do the minotaur now.” ”I did like five tribes at once few centuries ago. Made for a grand peace treaty. Didn’t last long, but maybe I can have the whole frozen north take a turn next time. Alicorn rides for peace, we could call it.” I ignore the ‘we’ part, and lick the minotaur’s green cocoon which melts immediately as I drain the love keeping it together. One more drip of saliva later, the minotaur starts waking up much faster than the mare. I barely dodge the incoming wide punch by leaning backwards, and spit again. ”No!” Scream yells. A green glob glues the minotaur’s arm to the floor, and few more goop projectiles later the minotaur is immobilized again, growling at me, his eyes staring daggers. “Drinking contest?” I shoot out. We don’t have any cups, but we’ll sort that out later. ”That’s a DWARF custom. These guys snap necks, and use enslaved ponies as beasts of burden.” ”Do you speak minotaur?” ”Sure I do, but they usually understand ponish. Speaking of which, why didn’t he blow up like the door?” ”I thought about it, and I think that if I try to make my spit acidic, and it mixes with whatever paint stripper the dwarf was drinking, it goes kaboom. I just wanted glue now.” ”And you’re still not feeling sick or anything?” ”No, should I? I’m just storing it in me. I don’t think I have the right bits to get drunk.” ”Organs.” ”What, like Three used to play back in the castle?” ”How are you still alive?”