//------------------------------// // 39. Prison Pitfalls // Story: The Trials of Shmarity: an Ogres and Oubliettes Story // by TheMessenger //------------------------------// 39. Prison Pitfalls The morning that followed began disappointingly, with Elkraps’s stone keeping silent. It shouldn’t have been so surprising, the mare did have her own responsibilities after all and couldn’t be expected to drop everything for Rarity’s sake, but the lack of an update still soured her morning. Having little else to do, Rarity headed off to the main campus building. Of the library’s numerous shelves, one had to have something on this Halaster, and maybe in the afternoon Rarity could look into if the town had a travel agency or something along those lines that could get her through the desert and beyond. As for last night’s prediction, well, seeing the receptionist at her desk caused Rarity to recall her last words to her. The mare was right. Better for her to focus on the present and on what she could do today than to stress herself silly over the uncertainties of tomorrow. Rarity pushed the vague warnings to the back of her mind up until she reached the library’s entrance. As she was about to push past the doors, the red hooded mare’s instructions about this place popped up in her head, and she stopped and removed her hoof from the handle. A part of Rarity wanted her to ignore those instructions and continue on her way, but the explicitness of the directions which was in stark contrast to how nebulous everything else had been made it difficult for Rarity to just simply disregard what the mare had said. “Do not step foot into the library” wasn’t exactly opened to interpretation, though she failed to think of how purposely not taking advantage of the vast collection of knowledge behind these doors was going to do her any good. A fake cough from behind interrupted her inner debate. “If you’re not going to go inside, then stop blocking the way.” “Professor, please,” came a second, quieter, less raspy voice. “I-I’m sorry. Please, take your time.” “Oh no, I should be apologizing,” Rarity said, stepping to the side. “I didn’t mean to—“ There was something about the mare in front of her that caused Rarity to stop and stare. It took her moment to figure out why, and when it finally clicked, Rarity’s mouth fell open in her shock. She blinked away, but the familiar bespectacled face of Bluestockings, the scholar from Candelkeep, remained before her. Bluestockings’s own jaw dropped and her eyes widened as she in turn recognized Rarity. “Wait, you’re—“ “Yes, from the Merry Landing!” “Oh my goodness, it is you! We all thought you had...” The mare trailed off as she shook her head. “Captain Brine Drinker was beside himself when no one could find you on board. What happened?” “I lost my balance when we were being attacked by that sea monster and fell off,” Rarity explained. “Sea monster? Wait, was that what caused all that damage to the ship? We were told it was just a storm.” Bluestockings looked as she wanted to press the subject further, her eyes darting over Rarity excitedly, but she shook her head and said instead, “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter now. It’s still wonderful to see you alive and well. How long have you been at the schools?” “A little over a week now. And you?“ “We actually arrived here only a couple—“ Another forced cough came forth, interrupting Bluestockings before she could finished answering Rarity’s question. “Yes, yes, good to see, uh, whoever you are again,” groused Professor Pedagogue who somehow looked even grumpier and more unpleasant than she remembered him being, “but we are very busy ponies with a very important job to do.” He jerked his head toward the library doors. “Come along, Miss Bluestockings, we have a schedule to keep.” Bluestockings sighed and shot Rarity an apologetic look and a sorry smile. “Let’s talk later,” she whispered quickly. “We’re staying at an establishment called Leomund’s Modestly Priced Bed and Breakfast[i/] and should be there for another week at least.” Then, with one last nod, she hurried after her impatient senior. “Out of my way!” Rarity rolled her eyes at Pedagogue’s exclamation to some poor soul standing just out of her view, and she watched the two Candelkeep academics march into the library and vanished behind those doors. Less than a second later, the doors swung back open, and out stepped a familiar figure in a brown jacket, grumbling to herself as she dusted off her fedora. “Stupid rude old pony,” the diamond dog muttered. She put on her hat, and as she was straightening it, Athkatla Bones looked up and caught sight of Rarity. Her sullen appearance immediately brightened, and before Rarity could finish a single wave or begin to smile, Athkatla scrambled up to her. “O-oh!” Slightly unnerved by Athkatla’s sudden approach along with her wolfish grin, Rarity stepped back to make some space between them. “Um, hello there, Miss Bones. I see you’ve had a rather productive start this morning.” “Hm? Oh! Yes, yes.” Athkatla’s head bobbed up and down rapidly. “Yes, very productive. Read much. Learn much. Going to look for you now, but you here now. Good, very good.” “I’m sorry. You were looking for me?” “Yes. Going to see tomb of Ahghairon. Need help. Need pass.” She pointed a paw at Rarity. “Your pass. Pass still has Dean von Zarovich’s symbol?” Rarity took out her pass and unraveled it. The lines von Zarovich had written and the stamp of the raven and the unicorn skull were all still there. “And you want me to come with you to this tomb?” she asked. “Just to entrance,” Athkatla said, shaking her head. “Don’t need help exploring. Need to get there. You have map of archeological sights, have permission to visit. You help now?” “Now? As in right this moment? Well, I suppose, if it’s just to the entrance, but.” The next few seconds went by in silence. “But?” Athkatla prompted with a wave when Rarity showed no inclination of finishing her sentence. “Say, Miss Bones, would you say that you and I are familiar with each other?” The bipedal canine’s brow furrowed as her lips curled into a confused frown. “Maybe? Somewhat? Yes? Why?” “Oh, it’s nothing really.” Rarity couldn’t stop herself from smiling. “You wouldn’t happen to have, by any chance, heard of something called the Horn of Halaster before, have you? Maybe you’ve come across it in your studies or travels?” “Halaster.” Athkatla tapped her chin as her eyes rolled from one side to the other. “Hm, yes, familiar. Heard before. Hm. Ah!” She pounded her fist into her open palm. “Yes. Old story from before the schools of magic were set up. About prison for criminal mages, said to steal away magic to keep prisoners powerless. Warden mad mage Halaster. You have von Zarovich’s map?” The map of temples and other archeological sites that von Zarovich had provided Rarity had been left behind in her room with her saddlebags and most of her other gear. As they made their way to the inn, Athkatla relayed the local legend of Halaster, one of the many wizards and sorcerers who built a magic-centric civilization here following the mysterious fall of the precursors. That civilization would eventually become the current schools of magic, and much of the old infrastructure was still being used in some way today. Halaster’s prison was an exception, and it had been abandoned to time and left to rot with the other ruins. All surviving records had depicted the place and its superintendent as being especially cruel, and the fact that the place’s enchantment had yet to be lifted, leaving any mage without their arcane abilities and any magical item ordinary while they were within the walls, meant that the schools of magic mostly just tried to stay away from it. Of course, there was always a number of younger, more foolhardy students who saw the prison as a challenge, and every year would see a string of traumatized youngsters, seen full and puffed up with confidence only the night before, stumble back into town, bringing with them tales of vengeful spirits that haunted the empty cells, large ogre guards still making their patrol rounds, and an eerie statue of Halaster himself in the prison’s center that apparently stared at any intruders who dared come close, his crooked horn glowing with a sickly dull light. “And am I to assume that this horn on the statue is the Horn of Halaster?” Rarity asked as the two of them climbed up the stairs of the Hag’s Haven. Athkatla nodded. “Some say horn what prevents magic. Or what keeps ghost of prisoners in. Don’t know. Lots of theories, mostly just rumors. You interested?” “You could say so, yes.” They entered Rarity’s room, and from her bags they produced the map of colorful triangles. Ahghairon’s tomb was found relatively quickly, its location marked by a dark green flag, and the little gray triangle that represented Halaster’s prison wasn’t all that much further away. Rarity changed into her cloak and grabbed her gear, and the two left the inn. With some help from Athkatla, she managed to find a small store along the way that sold some mundane general supplies in addition to their more popular enchanted stock, and at Athkatla’s recommendation, she pick out a few choice items like a length of rope, some pitons and a mallet, a loaded tinderbox, and some torches, typical dungeoneering equipment as Athkatla so put it. Then, once she was ready, she and Athkatla set off to the edge of town, walking on until the street and the surrounding buildings disappeared and they were back before the pair of feline folk and the desk that they shared. One cursory check through Rarity’s pass later and they were once again standing in the desert sand, right outside the infinite tower with the sun shining brightly down upon them. The two entered the field of flags and structural remains together, but after an hour or so their paths diverged. As they had so discussed earlier back in Rarity’s room, Athkatla didn’t have a whole lot interest in some dilapidated penitentiary that had been turned into little more than a test of courage or club initiation by some careless juveniles, and curious though she might have been about the anti-magic field surrounding the area, the adventuring archeologist doubted there’d be anything of notable value. Still, to repay the favor of helping her get to her own goal, Athkatla did offer to accompany Rarity to Halaster’s prison some other day, just not this day. All this Rarity accepted gratefully, but it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick survey of the place first since she was already here. It wasn’t like magic neutralization could do much to her, what with Rarity already lacking her natural magically talents, and despite her previous experience with the local historical vestiges, she didn’t put a great deal of stock into the accounts of ghosts and ogres given that such claims came from frightened youths after what was probably well past their bedtime. Rarity soon arrived at her destination, an eroded ringed wall that stood hardly any taller than she was next to the gray flag she had been following. All that remained of what Rarity assumed to be a great tower, like the one on the fate reader’s card last evening, was its crumbling, uneven base which failed to inspire any dread in her, especially in the light of day. She could spot rumble sticking out of the sand some distance away, perhaps pieces of the collapsed tower’s upper levels, and after marching the circumference of the wall, Rarity found a number of gated entrances. Many of the gates were rusted into place or were blocked by debris, but Rarity eventually found an open passage and walked inside. The moment Rarity stepped foot inside the former prison, her perception of the place switched from the ruined foundations of a tower to that of a well meant for a town of titans as she now stood at the edge of a great pit. Even with the sun being at its zenith, Rarity could barely make out the surface of the hole’s bottom, and any details to what rested there at the very bottom were beyond her vision no matter how hard she squinted. What she could see were the numerous barred chambers that made up the pit’s walls, likely where additional prisoners were held back in the day when the structure was still in operation. As far as she could tell, there were by Rarity’s count six, maybe seven floors of cells, which meant that, by her best estimate, the pit before her was roughly sixty to seventy feet deep. Not exactly an endless abyss, but it would still take Rarity a good few hours to thoroughly check. Searching the ground floor, on the other hoof, required almost no time at all, but all she was able to find up here was dust, dirt, and broken pieces of the surrounding walls. Nothing worthwhile, and there definitely wasn’t any horn lying around. That meant if the seer was right in her readings, Rarity’s horn could only be somewhere in that pit, and she had so happened to locate a stairway leading down to the cells below during her search of the ground walls and rooms. The question of how to get down to the levels below was now a nonissue, and after going through a few minutes of self-deliberation, Rarity decided to extend her search. She started making her way down the stairs, using the light of the early noon sun to guide her steps and illuminate the cells as she walked along the inner platform that was between the jail bars and the hole. Most of the cells, Rarity discovered, were tightly sealed, their doors rusted shut and in place. She did manage to find a few with loose bars and even some spots where enough of the iron had eroded away that there was space for a full grown mare to crawl through, though Rarity refrained from doing so; she could tell that besides some rusty shackles and chains, the cells on this section were as empty as the rooms upstairs. The next level was hardly any better, the only difference being a torn piece of fabric caught around one of the bars. It looked relatively recent enough that it must have been left behind by a fleeing student, but to what might have possibly frightened this theoretical student into ruining a perfectly good cloak, well, there were a couple of shadowy shapes that gave Rarity a bit of a shock, but stepping to the side and allowing the light above to shine through revealed the shapes to nothing more than piles of rubble. So far, no hint of a horn, and Rarity was beginning to grow discouraged and impatient. Still, she continued on, forcing herself to slow down as flooring of the lower levels started to show signs of deterioration. There was also noticeably less and less daylight reaching to her as Rarity went further down, either due to the additional distance between her and the surface or because the sun had moved to different position. Eventually, it came to the point where she had to light a torch so that she could check the interiors of the cells and to make sure she didn’t misstep. Now Rarity was starting to feel uneasy, maybe even afraid. Every questionable silhouette caused her to nearly jump, and the beating of her heart doubled at the sound of her own hoofsteps. Thoughts of returning to the surface, abandoning her search, and restarting this expedition at a later date with the more seasoned Athkatla shoved their way to the forefront of Rarity’s mind. Part of Rarity berate her for being so needlessly reckless as she pushed on to the next floor while another part chided her for being so easily frightened and argued that the fear was all in her head, that she had yet to encounter anything that warranting her fright. A new voice, the voice of Pinkie Pie, entered Rarity’s head when one particularly menacing shadow was revealed to simply be a primitive toilet, and at the advice the Pinkie in her head sang, Rarity let out a giggle. The sound echoed out, becoming louder as it bounced along the ringed wall until her dainty little laugh filled the entire pit. Rarity’s hoof flew over her mouth moments too late, her breath held as she waited. Even when her giggle finally faded away into nothing, Rarity kept still with her ears perked up and listening for any respondent noises. She thought she had heard something, Rarity wasn’t sure what, it could have been footsteps or an object being knocked onto the ground, but when several minutes passed in complete silence, she allowed herself a quiet sigh and attributed the supposed noise to her imagination and shaky nerves. Rarity then spent another few minutes to take some steadying breaths and calm down, moving forward only once she felt that she had her head on straight. The search of the cells soon quickened once it became clear that there was nothing in them, and Rarity condensed the whole process down to a sweep of the enclosed spaces with her torch and a glance. By the end of the hour, she was starting to approach the pit’s bottom, and as she got closer to the bottom, Rarity noticed both a soft buzzing sound and a faint glow coming from its center. Recalling the tale of a glowing horn attached to a statue caused Rarity’s heart to skip a beat, but the light was too weak to reveal much of its source, and she was still too high up for her own light to do much good. It wasn’t until she had gotten to the floor right above the bottom and had extended her torch as far as she could reach over the edge that she could make out the outline of the rumored statue of Halaster, and though the dim light failed to disclose any noteworthy details, she could see that the glow she had seen was indeed coming from the statue’s forehead. Caught up in her excitement, Rarity failed to notice just how far the flame had gotten down the torch she was holding. It wasn’t so close that the fire would have left a burn, but the discomforting heat did cause her grip over her torch to loosen, and before Rarity could adjust her hold, the wood shaft slipped out of her hoof and dropped to the floor below. It clattered noisily against the ground, the sound amplified by the circular structure of the place just as it had for Rarity’s laugh, only this time the sound of stomping that soon followed was unmistakably real, and they were getting louder by the second. As the pounding steps reached a crescendo, a large gangly creature leapt out of the shadows, its wrinkled green skin exposed by the light of the fallen torch. The creature stood hunched over on two legs with its long arms dangling past the stained, raggedy loincloth around its waist, reaching even beyond its knees. Each arm was punctuated with a hand of wickedly curved claws, and its fangs flashed as it hissed and swiped at the fire before it. The monster raised it head, giving Rarity a regretfully good look of its hideous, angular face, much of which was taken up by a massive, squashed nose and covered in warts. The greasy dreadlocks atop the creature’s head shook as it sniffed at the air, and suddenly, it turned its beady eyes to Rarity’s spot. Immediately, Rarity scrambled away from the edge and ducked down behind the wrecked remains of a wall. She covered her mouth to keep the creature from noticing her panicked breathing, if it wasn’t already too late. Rarity tried to keep an ear up, tried to listen for any clues to what the creature was doing now, but it was difficult to hear anything over the hammering of her own heart. Had the monster seen her or not? Should she attempt an escape or would it be better to keep hidden? Rarity was still considering her limited options, her thought racing a mile a minute, when she heard the stomping start up again, but this time it sounded as though the steps were moving away from her. Rarity peeked her head out in time to catch the creature disappear into a tunnel. Any urge to relax she quickly banished however as she continued to stare down into the pit, half expecting the creature to suddenly charge right back toward her. The sound of the heavy footsteps gradually tapered off and faded as the distance between their source and Rarity increased. The creature must not have noticed her or just didn’t care that she was trespassing. Whatever the reason, she was safe, at least for the time being. Slowly, quietly, Rarity picked herself up and got back onto her feet. She started to turn around, having had her fill of danger for today and ready to return to the surface, when a glint down below caught her eye and caused her to halt her retreat. The torch had gone out, leaving the faint glow the sole source of light in the area, and it seemed to be growing brighter. The longer she stared, the harder Rarity found it was to look away or justify leaving. She had gotten so far, and her goal was now so close, only maybe a stone throw away. Did she really want to have to come back later, to have to go through another round trip of all those stairs? And even if Rarity had Athkatla by her side, there was no telling if the diamond dog had the means to deal with that ogre or troll or whatever it was, and the extra paws and presence might actually make it easier to draw the creature’s unwanted attention and possibly even its wraith. Rarity carefully made her way back to the rim of the platform and stared at the barely visible tunnel that the monster had disappeared into. There was no telling where it led or how deep it went, but seeing as the monster could no longer be heard, it seemed reasonable to assume that it was now a good, safe distance away. If she was quick, if she was careful, if she was smart, then surely she’d be able to get down there and grab her horn without alerting the monster then leave before it could return. It was risky, yes, and there was no denying how dangerous this could possibly be, but Rarity’s entire journey up to this point had been fraught with risk and danger, and she wouldn’t have gotten this far by being timid. And in any case, surely getting back her magic was worth the potential peril. A quick glance revealed no obvious stairs or passageways leading further down. The new coil of rope came out, and Rarity fastened an end to one of the sturdier bars from a nearby jail cell. She gave it a few good tugs to test the knot’s integrity, and once satisfied, Rarity returned to the edge overlooking the base of the pit and gently lowered the other end of her line. The fifty foot length was more than adequate for the twenty or so feet between her and the bottom, and soon there was a decently sized pile of extra rope on the floor. Rarity gave the rope one last pull, then she began her descent, moving slowly at first to test her weight and to get acclimated to the unfamiliar act of rope climbing. The rope held, and Rarity got the hang of alternating her grip in conjunction with the shifting of her body by the time her hooves touched solid ground. She landed as softly as she could and waited to see if there was any reaction to her arrival, readying herself to hurry back up the rope at the first threatening sign. Nothing appeared, and the space around Rarity remained dead silent. She took a cautious step toward the glow in the center, almost dragging her hoof along the ground’s surface in an attempt to keep quiet. Still nothing. Rarity continued forward, and slowly, as she got closer to the center, the statue of a pony upon a pedestal came into view. Illuminated by the glow she had been following, Rarity saw that the sculpture was of a caped stallion posing proudly. Much of the details was worn away, but Rarity could still see the hint of a cruel sneer on the smoothed face. Other than that malicious grin and a beard, the only other facial feature that remained was the luminous horn sprouting out of the stone stallion’s forehead. As Rarity examined the horn, it became increasingly apparent to her that something was amiss. It didn’t look right, like it was out of place and didn’t belong, and as Rarity approached, she soon realized why. The horn was too short to belong to the larger than life statue, and it wasn’t on entirely straight, with the spiraling accessory leaning slightly crooked to the left. The colors, as far as she could tell from the horn’s light, didn’t match, with the horn being a very familiar white and the statue it was attached to a much darker gray. Maybe the difference in color was just due to the horn lacking the same wearing away that the rest of the statue suffered from, but they didn’t look like they were even of the same material. It was an interesting observation that segued nicely to the question of how her horn ended up here of all places to begin with, but Rarity really couldn’t afford to dwell on any of that right this moment. She found the horn. Wonderful. Now she had to retrieve it and get out of this pit before it’s ogreish guardian returned. Taking a few more steps brought her right to the base of the statue where she looked up and frowned. The combined height of the stone stallion and the pedestal he was standing on left her horn well out of her reach. Rarity turned to where all her extra cord laid but decided against it and instead pulled herself onto the raised platform. At least the statue was posing in a way that gave her plenty of places to grab onto, Rarity quickly learned as she climbed. From the pedestal to the statue’s haunch to its upper back and finally to its broad shoulders and neck, Rarity steadily reduced the distance between herself and her objective until at last her hoof wrapped around the horn at the very top. It wiggled at her touch, but despite the suggested looseness, the horn still resisted her attempts to free it from the statue’s head. Rarity struggled vainly for a little while longer before stopping to pull out her dagger. Feeling around the smoothed stone forehead, she found the point where the horn connected to the sculpted pony and wedged the tip of the blade into the space, taking great care to to avoid scrapping the obsidian against her horn. The horn popped out easily after that, so easily in fact that Rarity nearly lost her balance. With horn in one hoof and dagger in the other, she threw her forelegs around the statue’s neck as her back legs tightened around its chest. For a moment, everything was still, and it seemed as though Rarity’s maneuver had saved her from a nasty fall, but the moment came to an end, and the silence was broken by loud crack. Rarity felt her whole world abruptly lurch backwards, and she immediately released the statue and jumped down. She landed with a hard thud and a pained cry, but letting go gave her the time she needed to roll out of the path of the statue’s falling torso. The stone smashed against the floor, and with a deafening crash, it exploded into several fragments, wiping away the sneer that had been on the stallion’s face along with any resemblance to an equine head. Rarity groaned and winced as she picked herself up and made sure that she still had both her dagger and her newfound horn and that she hadn’t sustained any major injuries. She was still checking for bruises and brushing off dust when the ringing in her ears gave way the sounds of a thunderous sprint. The hurried steps got louder and louder by the second, and Rarity, her blood running cold from realizing just how rapidly they were approaching her position, turned and hobbled to her rope. The ground started to tremble, announcing the creature’s return as it burst out of the tunnel’s mouth, it’s chest rising and falling heavily from its rushed commute here. It became still before the presented scene, its eyes sweeping over the stone pieces littering the floor and the set of legs that still stood on top of the pedestal until the creature’s gaze landed on the glowing horn Rarity was holding Rarity swallowed and ran her tongue along the roof of her mouth in an attempt to regain a bit of moisture. The creature was intelligent enough to understand the concept of clothing and modesty, maybe she could convince it, or rather, them to let her go in peace. Bare minimum, initiating a conversation would buy her some time to think of a plan and maybe even distract the creature long enough for Rarity to gather her energy and make a dash for the rope. She took in a deep breath. “Ah, excuse me, I—“ The creature’s enraged roar filled the air, and it leapt toward her. Rarity ducked, and those giant claws swept mere inches over her head. So much for trying to talk her way out of this mess, as much of a long shot as it may have been. She tried to run, but down came the creature’s second hand, and this time it caught Rarity by her shoulder, the dirty claws digging in painfully as its grip tightened in retort to her twisting and struggling. With her free foreleg, Rarity brought her dagger back and plunged it into the monster’s wrist, inciting an agonized howl and causing it to release her. She jumped back in time to avoid the creature’s gnashing teeth as it leaned forward for a bite, then she swung again, bringing the black blade right across its face. A new plan began to formulate in Rarity’s head as the creature reeled back. Dispatching this monstrous foe by her lonesome and with only a dagger was, outside of there being a miracle, highly improbable, but if she succeeded in inflicting enough damage, that might convince the creature that she wasn’t worth the pain. The thought fueled her limbs, giving them strength as Rarity continued to avoid claws and fangs while seizing every opportunity to striking back. One particularly careless swing of a claw left the creature’s entire left flank vulnerable, and Rarity sprung forward to capitalize on the beast’s mistake. She jammed the dagger deep into the side of the creature’s stomach, dealing a most excruciating wound if the reactionary yell was anything to go by. In the glow of her critical blow, however, Rarity realized seconds too late that she had overextended, and she had little to no time to dodge the creature’s next attack. The claw slashed across her front, cutting through the fabric of her cloak and leaving behind a moderately shallow gash, nothing too serious if treated, but as Rarity staggered back and out of way of the other claw, she doubted the creature would give her the chance to do so. Her spare dagger was drawn, the one from Elder Woods’s still stuck in the ogre’s gut, but even as Rarity readied her weapon, she could feel herself tire. Her breathing was beginning to be strained, forced, and unsteady, and her limbs were on the brink of shaking. Then, as by the light of the horn she watched the wound in her foe’s side rapidly heal and close over the obsidian, swallowing up the blade, her remaining will to keep fighting began to crumble. Her eyes widened in further horror as the other stab and slash marks she had bestowed upon that large green body started to vanish as well. Her disfiguring of its face was the last to go, and the creature grinned down at Rarity, licking the fronts of its bared teeth with a slimy purple tongue. Rarity slammed her dagger back into its scabbard and broke straight into a gallop. She might not have had much combat experience, but even she recognized that this was a truly hopeless battle. There was no sense in sticking around, not since she had gotten her objective and that it was now clear that a safe retreat was going to be impossible. Desperation lent Rarity’s legs strength and speed, and she quickly made it to her rope. Immediately, she started climbing, using her one unoccupied foreleg, her two hind legs, and even her jaw as she cradled her horn in her other front leg. Any thoughts of stopping to store the horn in her bags in order to free her other hoof disappeared at the booming of the creature’s steps against the ground. When she had gotten about halfway up the rope, some of her panic and fear turned to hope, but all that and everything else was replaced by a sudden searing pain that nearly caused Rarity to let go. The creature’s fangs tore ruthlessly into her back while the rest of its mouth clamped down, trapping the mare in place. Thinking wildly and with no other options left to her, Rarity swung the one pointy thing that was available, her horn. The tip found its way into the creature’s eye, and though it didn’t go too deep, being little more than a quick poke, it still caused the creature’s jaws to open up. The second Rarity felt those fangs exit her, she took off, pulling herself up with as much might as she could muster and as swiftly as she could. She felt the claws cut the air below her, and when her hooves brushed solid ground and grabbed hold of the platform’s edge, she heard a great, horrific scream of rabid vexation. The scream was promptly followed by loud scraping and snarling, which drew Rarity back to the edge to see that the creature was climbing after her, using its claws to dig clunks of stone out of the wall to create handholds. Rarity started to run, but by now the adrenaline was finally wearing off, and her injuries had started to take their toll. Her legs turned to jelly and were sluggish and unresponsive to her commands, and even the clamor of climbing getting nearer would not spur them. There was no outrunning the creature in her current condition, she’d be amazed if she managed even make it to the first flight of stairs, and resuming her skirmish with the creature was a lost cause. With both fight and flight off the table, Rarity frantically looked around for some place to hide. She limped over to where she had secured the top of her rope just as a giant green claw slammed down onto the platform. There was no time to think as Rarity turned to the cells behind her and dove into the space between the bars and began to forcefully squeezed through. She twisted, turned, and sucked in her stomach, ignoring the abrasion of iron against her sore body, until finally she tumbled into the dingy, dirty cell just in time to watch the ogre slam itself against the bars behind her. The creature continued to screech as it pounded away at the bars with its fists. When it was obvious that the metal would hold despite the creature’s immense strength, it tried to reach in to grab at her, but Rarity scooted back to the furthest corner, pressing her back to the wall and staying what she hoped was well out of reach of those nasty claws. The screaming and smashing and spitting eventually stopped as the creature grew visibly fatigued, and with one last hateful glare and a final frustrated slam on the bars, it retreated and returned to the pit’s bottom then stomped off. Any audible presence of the creature faded as it got further away, but Rarity didn’t move. A cursed mix of fright and exhaustion weighed every inch of her body down, and it was some minutes later before she felt feeling again in her limbs, none of which were pleasant. Sores and aches assaulted her joints, but more demanding was the pain of her injuries. The claw marks on her chest and the bite on her back burned and reminded her of their existence, and with a groan, Rarity forced herself up. She removed her cloak and laid out the first aid kit from the free market bazaar. Salves cooled the burning and cleaned the wounds, and strips of linen covered them, though she had some trouble dealing with the teeth gashes on her back. With her wounds addressed, Rarity started to calm down, and after choking down her very last stick of preserved vegetable paste and a few sips from her canteen, she was beginning to feel better. She wasn’t exactly at one hundred percent, but after a little more rest, Rarity would be able handle some stairs, and with passageways between the floor too narrow for the monster to move through, she didn’t have to worry about being pursued. She let out a relieved sigh and for the first time in what felt like a long stretch of time allowed herself to relax. Rarity got redressed and was in the middle of repacking her saddlebags when her hoof brushed against the horn. The light coming from it was slowly diminishing, and when she picked it up, she noticed something else. Had her horn always been so light? Rarity never had really payed much mind to the weight of her horn when it had still been affixed to her forehead, but with it being held in her hooves like this, she couldn’t help but find it’s lack of heft peculiar. She turned it over to check its base and learned that the bottom was open and that the rest of the horn was hollow like a funnel. That couldn’t be right, her horn was solid. Rarity was sure of it, all unicorn horns were. That was as basic as one could get with unicorn anatomy, and what’s more, they most definitely weren’t supposed to open up at the tip either. By what little light it was still being emitting, Rarity inspected the horn’s peak with the uttermost care, her detail-oriented eye picking apart every last minutia they found, and what she ended up discovering almost caused her to drop the horn. Instead, Rarity slumped against the wall, her heart suddenly heavy. The tip was a mouthpiece. It was indeed a horn, an old fashion trumpeter’s horn.