The entire trek taken from Central Headquarters to the heart of the Hall of Honor involved a ridiculous amount of pomp and pretentious ceremony—not just for Rainbow Dash and her friends, but quite clearly for all of the Bloodwings who were forced to trot the roots leading there on hoof. Once Rainbow cleared the circular outer corridor and entered the main heart of the coliseum, she immediately understood why. The spatial grandeur of the place was certainly impressive, to say the least. It was even more mesmerizing to know that the arena—in all its epic splendor—was originally carved out of the epic foundation of the Tree of Mothers looming above everypony.
Back on the Light Side, Rainbow Dash had flown over nearly every geographic formation known to equine civilization—and then innumerable earthen structures unknown to most souls... souls who hadn't scoured the same lengths of the Plane that Rainbow did in a single lifetime. Among these formations were craters—many of which she had glided over long before encountering the massive ring of sunken earth that made up Durandana.
This arena—for lack of better description—looked more as though it was carved from the earth by an ancient meteorite than actual living sarosian architects. It certainly wasn't the size of Durandana, a place that was made by a portion of a prehistoric Sentinel—Stratopolis—slamming into the earth with the energy and force equal-to-if-not-greater-than the sheer power of the Plane's own nebulous creation. But it certainly made Lady Pestiferous' combat arena back in Searo look like a little foals' swimming pool.
If it weren't for the runic lights lining the outer rim of the coliseum's circumference, Rainbow was certain she'd not be able to make out the faintest outline of the furthermost edge of the root-carved impression across from where she and her friends emerged. Lit torches at the base levels of the structure below filled the upper air with a grim haze that made visibility difficult. It didn't help that the leather awnings stretching above blocked most of the starlight.
It didn't help Rainbow—that is. This place was a “sacred” spot built by ancient sarosians for all sarosians foaled in the millennium thereafter. Rainbow Dash imagined it was just the right kind of dark for the Bloodwings' slitted eyes to take into account every detail of the dim architecture comfortably. Even as she fumbled to make a complete survey of the place, she could hear—in resounding echoes reverberating from wall to massive wall of the coliseum—that the Sons of Nightmares were having no trouble whatsoever in finding their seats. What's more, they took their time settling in, shrieking and howling and laughing with unfettered gusto.
This produced a massive sonic chamber of noise and beautiful bedlam, the likes of which Rainbow hadn't heard since foalhood. It struck her as curious that the cacophony evoked memories of the Equestrian Games—and not the thunderous madness that she had witnessed between the Ledomaritans and Xonans in No Mare's Land, or the Battles of Val Roa or Bleak's Plummet. This place had a familiar euphoria to it—one that mimicked the sarosians' distant cousins back home in Equestria. The Hall of Honor was a place for celebration and pride. All of Lexxic's subordinates may have been soldiers out there... but in here they were living. For the briefest of heartbeats, Rainbow Dash understood—or thought she understood—the worth of such a sanctum.
“Whoah ho ho ho ho!” Discord rubbed his paws ardently with a thirsty look to his ghostly facade. “Now this is more my speed!” He did a little pirouette and levitated in place, sporting violet shades and manipulating a spectral turntable. “Let's get it bouncin' with the manic madness, alreadyyy!”
The would-be DJ wasn't given a response—most especially not from his anchor. Even if the facetious dragonequus wasn't a mere shade of his former self, his words would only get swallowed up by the noise noise noise noise noise...
As it so happened, Shriike's sensitive ears suffered the most from the sarosian racket. Rainbow could practically smell the agoraphobia dripping off of the clerk's trembling figure. Up until then, she had managed well in taking notes of the passing dialogue—no matter how haphazard. This was a whole different ordeal, however, and it was becoming plain to see that Shriike might crack at any moment. Hyggs and Bosonn trotted briskly by her; Rainbow noticed them stealing a few glances at the unicorn on the verge of a mental breakdown, and they snickered gleefully between themselves.
Rainbow exhaled. She looked at Ariel, then motioned towards Shriike.
The Heraldite didn't even need to respond. Reading Rainbow's mind, Ariel slowed her trot until she practically hovered right behind the clerk. She steadied the mare from Gibbous Sanctum with a steady hoof resting on her withers. Shriike was evidently too frazzled to complain. Regaining her breaths, she trotted forward a bit more steadily with the pegasus' assistance.
Rainbow turned her attention once again towards the spacious arena bowing deeply below... and she felt this insatiable urge to plunge forward... as if diving off a cliff. This startled something primal in her, and she had to flap-and-flap-and-tighten her wings, issuing a few curious glances from Azarias and others. The mare's heart beat hard, and once again she was reminded of foalhood—of the hazy infantile days of taking her first flight off a cloudtop and feeling that frightful tug of gravity at the very knifing brink of life. Back in the day, that sensation excited her... so much so that Rainbow Dash veritably learned to fly before she could even trot.
But gazing down at the steep descending terraces of the arena filled her with more despair than enthusiasm. Rainbow Dash had more than a little bit of difficulty guessing just why the lower levels below gave her this nebulous sense of vertigo. After all, Rainbow Dash had flown, fallen, plunged, twirled, charged, leapt, collapsed, and spun nearly every imaginable conjuration of aerial angles in the known universe—with all the spectacular heights and depths to match. Maybe it was something in the design of the place as seen from her lofty perspective—an optical illusion that made the sunken reaches appear greater than they actually were. Or perhaps it was just how damnably dim the place was... that Rainbow Dash was aware of the bottom floor of the arena but simply couldn't entirely perceive it.
With a relaxing breath, Rainbow took a mental step back and reminded herself of just what it took to arrive here. She had walked. All of her partners had walked with her What's more—Lexxic, his fellow brothers, and the entire gathered military of the Dark Vigil—everypony trotted to that spot, having to navigate enormous winding root structures to get to the Hall of Honor... with descending onion ring sub-sections that were presently yawning beneath Rainbow and everyone. There was no flying to get there. Rainbow hadn't asked Lexxic or Azarias or anyone else about it out loud—but there must have been a reason for it.
And there it was. The reason and the sudden vertigo were both one and the same. Like many things on Lexxic's plate, the Hall of Honor was something inherited—and from what Rainbow Dash learned, he nevertheless had to fight to be awarded it from the matriarchs who wanted nothing more to do with the fantastically abandoned place.
All things considered, the Bloodwings were late to the game when it came to the Trinary War. They brute-forced their way into the conflict, wielding passion, violence, and ruthless aggression. They had diminished Endrax's forces through their efforts, more or less taking the place of her brood's faction in the endless conflict.
But the War had since become a stalemate—a painful waste of life and culture that, seemingly, Lexxic agonized over ever living down. So he chose instead to live everything upwards. Every single effort in life was an arduous mountain climb, ever-ascending, ever-hoping to reach some lofty place of otherworldly salvation. To think otherwise—to lapse into equally-damning cynicism or complacency—would mean ruining the scant resources they barely had for the final charge his and all his brothers' lives had become.
There weren't many pieces of the slain buffalo left for his army to savor. Lexxic had managed to win the Hall of Honor back from those who used-and-abused the generations of bloody carcasses before him. So long as he lived, he could stand to boast over conquering that coliseum, at least, transforming it from a sanctum of past ideologies and metamorphosing it into a holiest of holies for his fellow wielders of the sarosian sword. In a conflict that looked insurmountable, it was important... beyond important, in fact... to cherish the trophies of triumph, however small or insignificant...
Or perhaps grandiose and epic. Rainbow stopped being mesmerized by the Hall of Honor for just a second—long enough to blink, squint, and blink again... realizing that—at the end of the day—this arena truly wasn't as marvelous and awe-inspiring as the innumerable other wonders she had flown over from Wintergate to Alafreo to Robhredden and everywhere in between. With just enough cloud cover and fog, she may just as easily have glided over the site without even registering its existence.
But the fact that Lexxic had made her trot there—and his comrades and soldiers in turn—made Rainbow Dash understand the sheer gravity that the First Son of Nightmares held in the place, and by extension his agency in the Dark Vigil. He had a war to win, a Sarcophagus to plunder, and eternal night to return to the Light Side. None of these things were terribly surprising, but seen up close—and with such patient revelation—conveyed an impermeable sense of importance that the world-weary avatar of Luna would have otherwise been numb too.
It felt humbling, to say the least. Almost frightfully so. Rainbow pondered just what gravity Lexxic might similarly wield in pitching his philosophies to her, much less his habitats. She steeled herself like the veteran flier she had grown to become her whole life; she had to be cautious around him.
“Do we have any requests? Hmmm?” Discord held a phantom vinyl outward, waving it at all the velvety bodies milling around him and his anchor. “Yes? No? Anypony?” He and his turntable phased through Masser. “How about you, sir? Got a track for giving those tattoos a tango??” He craned his ear towards the Third, pretended to be whispered something, and nodded with an enthusiastic grin. “'Eee-Eee-Eee-Eee!' it is!” The lord of chaos slapped the record into place and spun it at a maddening pace, producing a persistent single-tone screeching noise. “It's got a nice beat and you can dance to it! Wooooo!”
Rainbow Dash hunched over slightly in mid-trot, rubbing her forehead. She saw a glint of metal, and glanced up to see Wildcard looking directly at her.
“Are you okay?” the Desperado asked.
“Mrmmmffff...” Rainbow's ears folded back in a desperate attempt to block out Discord's constant barrage of sonic absurdisms. “...just peachy keen.”
Wildcard's goggles flashed left—then right—then locked back on Rainbow Dash. He talon-signed: “The mares?”
“... … ...” She merely glared at him.
His feathery headcrest angled sharply. “Discord.”
Rainbow rubbed her head even harder. “Bard always was the brighter one, wasn't he?”
A breathy burst of noise came from Wildcard's beak—almost like an elderly rooster stifling a snort.
Rainbow managed a smirk at that—
“Eee-Eee-Eee!” Hyggs could be heard shrieking. With flapping wings, he lifted up a dozen feet and pointed down at one of multiple partitions set within the terraced seats halfway down the coliseum. “The feast awaits us, brothers! Look! A mighty bounty is being brought!”
“S'rynn sym thy'kyl'm, ryk ryk!” Azarias hollered back at him, fangs flashing. “Wings coiled, soldier!”
“Hyggs... runt...” Masser let loose a groaning sigh, trotting warily between the Second and the lower ranking Bloodwing. “...know your role or else you will know an empty stomach.”
The warrior in question was already drooping awkwardly back to the steps beneath him. A round of laughter echoed his exposed posture. Soon, he hunched alongside Bosonn—who was laughing the hardest.
“Offering yourself as the Second's meal!” Bosonn slapped Hyggs' withers. “Gotta hoof it to ya, brother! That's one way to conserve the bounty!”
“Hrmmmfff...” Hyggs' velvety features burned as he plodded along under the many-many smarmy gazes locked on him. “...I think I'd rather be gnawed to death by changelings.”
“He could arrange that too, y'know! Next engagement! Just wait!”
“Hresssssh!”
Rainbow wasn't paying too much attention to this exchange. She craned her neck to look where Hyggs had pointed. Wildcard saw her movement and he shuffled out of the way so she could get a better view. Soon, Rainbow could spot a bevy of bodies garbed in dark clothing. They filed out of isolated tunnels situated at six equidistant points within the midsection of the coliseum's seating area. The ponies hauled trays, platters, and pitchers on their flanks. A pungent aroma wafted its way cyclonically up the hollow of the coliseum, and Rainbow Dash couldn't tell yet whether it smelled foul or pleasing.
She watched as the servants made their way towards flanking swaths of seats positioned on either side of the entrances. There, canvas sheets had been drawn over the benches—which were stacked higher than the adjacent seats, most likely due to unseen sheets of metal or wood stacked underneath. These sections clearly operated as serving tables, which made some sense. Rainbow Dash couldn't imagine the Dark Vigil possessing enough servants to individually feed and serve every soldier under Lexxic's command. No doubt a “feast” for the Bloodwings operated like a buffet, with the participants having to file up and grab their meals before taking them to their respective seating area. Rainbow legitimately wished Pinkie Pie could have been around to comment on it; no doubt the party planner would have a rating to give to the whole operations. But...
“All of those busy-bodies and not a single mane-net to be found,” Discord huffed, indignantly folding his arms and arms and arms and arms and—“That's it. I'm one-star-bombing this place. Also, I don't smell tater tots.”
Rainbow stifled another groan. She realized she and the rest of her group were still being ushered down the steps... further and further and further to that nebulous bottom level that loomed so very far away.
“Eee-Eee-Eee!” Azarias sounded off into the air once the brief chaos caused by Hyggs' outburst had been dispelled. “Keep moving, brothers! First to bottom! Last to rear!”
Ariel blinked awkwardly at that. She mouthed a question—reluctant to voice it aloud, even to Masser.
Rainbow likewise pondered over this, but soon she found herself distracted by an illuminating detail:
Already—and with practiced grace—the flowing body of sarosian soldiers was splitting up into separate groups. Several Bloodwings—curiously those who happened to be the loudest and rowdiest of the massive bunch—found their seats high up along the outer rim of the coliseum. Others appeared to have earned choicer places—finding spots in the lower terraces, dividing up into neat layers. The further down the sarosians took their seats, it became clear to Rainbow that they were older... stronger... and far-more-scarred than their more amateur familiars high above.
Looking forward—and downward—Rainbow could see that Lexxic, Azarias, Masser, and their closest comrades made no hesitation in their purposeful descent. It soon became clear that the lowest section of the arena's seating was destined for them. Rainbow and her fellow Heraldites were being invited, and she didn't know whether to feel honored or nauseous about it.
The young bloodcolt who had been “selected” earlier up in the outer chamber looked far more confused than she was. He fidgeted, looking all around at the battle-weary and muscular masses around him. He rubbed one forelimb against the other, ears drooping—
“Wry'spek'lym,” Lexxic's voice rang.
Those very same ears perked up. Spek'kl jerked into a tall stance, growling as menacingly as he could manage. “Commander! Yes, Commander!”
“At ease. Our seats await us.”
“In...” Spek'kl trembled visibly from head to tail, but straightened out in time to gallop up and join Lexxic's right side. “...in the First Ring, Commander?”
“I am your brother, Wry'spek'lym, as are all our fellow warriors above and beneath us.” Lexxic gestured with his wings as he trotted down the steps in an effortless glide. “All that separates us is experience. But that demarcation is a river—not an ocean—and you too will learn to span it in time.”
Spek'kl's eyeslits hardened as he kept his tender voice deep and resolute. “I am honored to be at your side...” A slight hesitation, and then he squeaked out: “Brother.”
“Mmmm.” Lexxic nodded with his helm. “This is the place for it.” Soon he, the bloodcolt, and the rest of his most trusted warriors would reach the very inner lip of the coliseum. “But such is where we relish triumph. Beyond—out there is where we earn it.” He tilted his head upwards, and while Rainbow couldn't make out his eyes—even from far behind and above him—she nevertheless felt that he was aiming his words at her. “It benefits everypony to know what you are fighting for.”
As Rainbow Dash and her group approached the very base of the seating area, the arena itself came fully into focus. At this point, much of the spectacle and spatial grandeur of the coliseum was somewhat lost. Rainbow Dash was near the bottom, looking inward. In so doing, she realized that the actual surface area of the arena was remarkably small, bordering on laughable. No doubt a few Bloodwings could go about sparring within the circle, but the actual “combat area”—if one could call it that—was easily dwarfed by the likes of Pestiferous' gladiator arrangement back on the Light Side.
At last, the original purpose of the Hall of Honor made itself clear to Rainbow Dash. The chamber most certainly would have served better as some sort of center of worship—or a place where devout preservers of the Book of Saros once stood and read sacred scripture to the penitent crowd haloing them higher and higher above.
As she approached the very lip—Rainbow realized that the structure had been augmented a very long time ago. A rough, rusted metal border lined the inner circle of the central arena, and a portion of the floor was discolored from the rest, closely following the interior circumference. It occurred to her that—quite likely—the seating area of the coliseum once descended directly into the bottom portion. At some point—perhaps in her very lifetime—the Bloodwings sliced into it, forcing a new drop-off so as to serve the Hall of Honor's newfound purpose. Aside from the defaced etchings of ancient matriarchs seen high above, it was the only striking alteration to the place... and not a very flattering one at that.
Finally, Lexxic and his company came to a place of stopping. Rainbow caught sight of lengthy tables that hugged the inner wall of the arena so tightly that they too had to be curved at some minor degree. Lexxic sat at one end of a particular table, and it was then that Rainbow spotted his highest-ranking brothers clearing out a spot opposite of him, situated counter-clockwise along the inner circle.
“It would appear that our places have been set,” Seraphimus murmured, almost startling Rainbow with her proximity. The two griffons of her group hovered close to the avatar of Luna, as if something in their bird-of-prey blood insisted that now was a time of extreme caution. Rainbow sensed it in the steel-tone of the former Talon Commander's breath. “I wonder if we should know just which Bloodwings we've displaced by being here today.”
“Maybe nopony's being forced to sit elsewhere,” Ariel spoke up, guiding Shriike towards the table “Perhaps Lexxic usually has plenty of extra spaces at his table for guests, Sera. Why do you have to be paranoid about everything?”
“Hmmmmmm...” Seraphimus tilted her beak up. Her charcoal brown eyes reflected rows upon rows upon rows upon rows upon rows of sarosian bodies. “Why indeed.”
As Rainbow's group tightened, they moved towards their end of the table as one. There were no chairs—Rainbow discovered. The tables were placed so low that everypony in attendance could simply rest comfortably on their haunches. The closest thing they had to a head usher was Azarias. The Second stood near the table's end, gesturing them to take a seat—but never once losing his abrasive, scarred sneer.
“Closest to the aisle! How kind of you~” Ariel led Shriike to a spot and smiled coyly at Azarias. “Could you also show us the route to the nearest lavatory?”
“Rrrrrgh...” Azarias merely glared at the pegasus, then swiftly made his way back to Lexxic's end of the table—where he was evidently most comfortable.
Rainbow kept a mental note to smack Ariel upside the head again. For the time being, she squatted at her end of the table, positioned perpendicular to the arena's innermost edge while facing the clockwise curve. The experienced combat-vetern hidden deep beneath her fuzzy blue surface realized that this left her flank exposed to at least half of the coliseum's seating above and behind... but Wildcard's swift and ardent positioning to her left relaxed her somewhat. The Desperado hung back a bit, and at any moment they both knew he could cover her entire equine figure with an outstretched wing if events somehow turned catastrophic. Whether or not the gesture meant something—practically speaking—it did much to put her at ease, and she relaxed in her spot as best as she could.
Looking across the table, Rainbow saw Lexxic sitting down exactly opposite of her. In the place opposite of Wildcard, the First Son made space for little Spek'kl. Masser passed by, murmuring something to his superior—but Lexxic silenced him with a raised hoof, choosing instead to speak to the bloodcolt beside him.
“Allow me to guess,” Rainbow could hear Lexxic say from afar. “Formation Delta hooves out dry and flavrless meat rations every half-cycle.”
Spek'kl gulped and spoke boldly: “Being in your presence is sustaining enough, brother. I would sh-shame my fellow soldiers if I fattened myself without them.”
Lexxic's lips curved beneath his helm as he nodded. “A most honorable attitude. I knew I sensed something about you, brave one. Well...” He waved across the table at Lukaas—who hadn't yet seated himself. “...that honor deserves to be shared.”
The Fourth stepped up to the end of the table. “Yes, brother?”
“Have a portion of our table's bounty be supplied to the Fifth Wing of Bloodcolt Bleak Formation Delta.” He waved nebulously skyward. “They should be rotated along with the rest of the Sixth Root, assuming our fellow brothers follow protocol.”
Spek'kl's jaw dropped and his eyeslits positively sparkled.
“Hmmmm... I see.” Lukaas squinted down at the bloodcolt, hiding the coy hint of a grin. “And just who at our table will have to share a smaller portion to honor this last second change?”
Spek'kl gulped.
“Masser, of course.” Lexxic grinned. “He can learn to eat the platters themselves, just like last time.”
“I...” Spek'kl fidgeted. “I-I...”
“Or we could feed the bloodcolt to him,” Lukaas hummed. “It would only be a fitting sacrifice.”
The rest of the table filled with chuckles from the sarosians in attendance—except maybe Azarias and Sypher.
Lexxic waved at Lukaas. “Carry out the message already, Fourth. No need for further pageantry.”
“You started it, brother—”
“Eee-eee-eee!” Lexxic started, his five daggers glowing within their notches of the helm. Lukaas jumped away, doing as he was told. The rest of the table laughed loudly. Spek'kl blinked in confusion. Soon, the chaotic daggers dimmed and Lexxic was settling in place with a heavy sigh. “Maybe now you all see why he's stuck doing paperwork.” He smirked tiredly. “With an attitude like that on the battlefield, Sy'lukas'ymb would be quick food for the t'chyrym'lynna.” His muzzle brightened as he tilted his face towards the bloodcolt again. “Speaking of—do you desire meat? True meat?”
“I...” Spek'kl sat tall and resolute. “...I have long hoped to save the taste for my first victory on the battlefield.”
“Don't be foolish, brave one. Blood belongs to all.” Lexxic tilted his head back. “Ah... here they come. I fear the timeliness of these feasts will spoil me.”
“I don't think that would be possible, Commander,” Spek'kl said.
“Your only sin is being young, brother. For that, I forgive you.”
Rainbow looked past Lexxic's frame. She and the rest of her companions saw a line of servants trotting their way, carrying platters on their flanks and backside. Unlike the upper terraces of the coliseum—it would seem—her specific group wasn't required to shuffle up and gather plates on their own. It made sense, in a lot of ways.
“No breadsticks to start with?” Discord huffed. He levitated directly to Rainbow's right, charading a “chair” where there was nothing but torchlit space above the floor of the arena. “Hrmmmmfff... well, not everything can be perfect, eh, Sparky?”
Rainbow's nostrils flared. She had hoped—perhaps in vain—that being seated at the opposite part of the table across from Lexxic might have afforded her communion with her five friends again. Apparently, that was not to be the case. At least he was far enough away that the material of his helm didn't affect her much. A dizzy spell during dinner would be troubling to say the least.
And speaking of which...
“Uhhhhhhh...” Ariel fidgeted where she sat next to Shriike. Her position was easily the bravest, brushing haunches with Masser and other males of the bunch. “Has anypony else thought this far ahead?” Her nervous eyes traced the “edibles” atop the platter as the servants trotted closer and closer to their table. “Just what are we feasting on?”
“Oh, you needn't worry, seared one.” Masser gave a bright smile. It was evident he was salivating heavily beneath his scarred maw. “It's nopony you know.”
The table vibrated with chuckles and snickers. Rainbow didn't know if she should take the humor as encouragement or despondence.
“Relax, you nimrods,” Shriike droned. She had evidently calmed a great deal since sitting down in this rowdy place. Rainbow saw her putting her saddlebag neatly by her right side, demarcating the space between her and the griffons. “The chief source of Bloodwing sustenance is gained from the hunt.”
“Yeah... but just what do they hunt?” Ariel's voice cracked.
“Anything and everything,” Shriike said. “Not that I've partaken myself, of course.” The unicorn tilted her dainty nose up. “The diet of a Gibbous Sanctum denizen is far more refined and delicate than the heaps-of-meat that these plebeian soldiers gorge themselves on.”
Wildcard talon-signed: “You may not have that luxury anymore.”
Shriike blinked quadruply through her thick-thick lenses. “Uhm... just what did the bird-puss say right then?”
Rainbow Dash cleared her throat. “Shriike, have you considered just... how long you might be made to accompany us and Lexxic?”
“Uhhhh...” Shriike blinked. “...no?” Slowly, the clerk's ears drooped, and everypony could see her slowly paling in real-time.
“It doesn't smell like pony meat,” Seraphimus calmly declared as the servants finally shuffled up.
“Oh! Well that's good to know—” Ariel started, but did a double-take. She blinked worriedly at Seraphimus.
Seraphimus said nothing. Wildcard looked even more silent than usual, which made Rainbow feel suddenly as nervous as Ariel looked.
“Curious bunch of maidservants,” Discord yawned. “I could have sworn I left all the emo mares back with Celestia's baby sister in Equetria.”
Rainbow hated it—but she was curious over that statement. Craning her neck, she noticed that the servants carrying in the foods were in fact mares. They wore thick fabric and hoods that obscured their feminine features. What little she glanced of their muzzles belied deadpan expressions and hanging gazes. They went through their motions in a dispassionate glide, having likely memorized every physical action and gesture involved in laying food out across the various tables. In more ways than Rainbow could count, they reminded her of the Dihmers she and her traveling companions had met back at Blobstain. Except—these equines' misery was evidently cut from another cloth.
It struck Rainbow as curious that the Bloodwings would even allow members of the opposite sex in this sanctum—present company exempt, of course. The oddity was not lost to the soldiers either, it would seem, for Rainbow noticed that none of the stallions even bothered looking at the servants. They barely even acknowledged their presence in even the slightest. All of the snickering and sexist jabs made back in Central Headquarters was completely absent here. It was a heavy contrast to the thirstying, maligning treatment that the Searonese gave their “breeders” back in Pestiferous' hold. Rainbow imagined that maybe this was a whole new caste, hitherto unseen.
Shriike must have perceived Rainbow's curiosity. The clerk spoke up—if only to break herself out of her own anxious funk with intellectual trivia. “I'd suggest you stare less,” she said. This garnered confused glances from Ariel and the griffons. The Gibbous Sanctum representative continued, undaunted: “Trust me. It's for their own good as well as your own.”
“Why... do they have to be regarded as invisible objects?” Ariel stammered, blanching.
Shriike didn't even blink. “They're fortunate in their station. It's the objects that can be seen who shouldn't be allowed here.”
Ariel frowned. “And you're okay with this?”
The clerk shrugged. “It's not my problem, and it never will be. The polish in my blood affords me both fortune and duty. The more I focus on the latter and the less on the former—the more I can accomplish for the Siege of the Sarcophagus.” She smiled as a mug before her was filled with lukewarm water. “That's what your so-called avatar is here for, yes? That which resides inside?”
Rainbow's nostrils flared as a mare shuffled up, quietly pouring her a pitcher of liquid as well. “That... is just a means to an end.”
“Isn't everything.” Shriike raised the mug with telekinesis. “Unless I must remind you: your most trusted allies within the Vigil hail from Gibbous Sanctum and above. The more you deal with them—and less with Root Sludge—the better. So I wouldn't waste my time if I was you.” She floated the mug to her muzzle... paused... then glanced at all of the rowdy Bloodwings and shuffling servants around her. A shuddering sigh, and she placed the mug back down before reaching into her own bag for a personal canteen. “Although... it would be prudent to avoid dysentery.”
Rainbow glanced at her water—then flinched as two slabs of... something was slapped down onto her platter. She looked at it, and instantly her ears drooped—framing a blanching expression. “Hoboy.”
“There's the beef!” Discord purred.
“Are you okay, Rainbow?” Ariel was already asking.
“Hrmmmmmm...” Rainbow leaned back from the stringy bits of red matter lying juicily before her. “...yeahhhhhhhhhhh...?”
“You knew as well as we did that this moment was coming,” Seraphimus said in a cold tone.
Wildcard had been closely inspecting his own portion before talon-signing: “It looks vaguely reptilian in texture.”
“No doubt taken from some of the beasts we saw corralled and slain under the moonrise,” Seraphimus added. “That might explain why it's so raw. Granted... that could just be the way all Bloodwings prepare their game meat.”
“So... like...” Ariel looked at the others, shrugging. “...how the Hell do we get Rainbow through this?”
Wildcard gestured: “We still have some rations from the group's share we took in Blobstain.”
“That might come across as blatantly insulting,” Seraphimus calmly declared. “This is the First Son's traditional feast that he's gone out of his way to invite the Avatar of Luna to.”
“I don't get it...” Shriike adjusted her glasses, blinking at everypony around her. “What is the problem?”
“It's...” Ariel fidgeted, glancing from Rainbow to the meant to the Bloodwings and back to Rainbow. “... … ...complicated.”
“Mrmmmfffrfrrmmfff?” Shriike blinked again—more innocently this time—as she took a liberal, bloody bite of a levitating shank of flesh. “Mrmmfff—in what way? Mrmfff?”
Rainbow grimaced.
Discord leaned in to her right ear. “You could just close your eyes and pretend that you're a griffon. You've always wanted that, eh, Sparky?”
Rainbow grimaced even harder—looking positively green.
Just then, her nostrils filled with a grotesque odor. She realized that the servants were slopping a second helping onto the arranged platters. Only this time, it was some viscous, congeal substance... gray-colored and spongy in texture, with random yellow bits of unnameable solid shapes interspersed randomly within. In more ways than one, it resembled a runny lump of cat vomit.
“Okay... just...” Rainbow gestured at her plate. “What.”
“Hrmmmfff?” Shriike swallowed a meaty morsel and stifled a dainty burp. “It's wry'kyl'myk.”
“Rickle Pick?” Ariel's tongue twisted.
“A more pertinent question would regard the substance, not the name,” Seraphimus stated.
Shriike pointed. “It's grounded up algae, fungae, and moon-moss flecks.” A nod. “Strong in carbohydrates and fiber.”
“Oh praise Celessssss—” Rainbow's hair stood on end as she nervously glanced at the Bloodwings all around her. “—sssssssspectacular appetizer!!!” A nervous titter. “I sure do like my veggies!”
“Veggies?” Shriike blinked.
“Close enough.” Ariel reached over the group's platters. “Dubya? Give me a hoof.”
Wildcard nodded, already assisting Ariel. Together, the two Heraldites gathered all of the wry'kyl'myk from their plates and lumped it over to Rainbow's. They even took the samples from Seraphimus' place.
The Former Talon Commander sighed in exasperation. “You're only delaying the inevitable, y'know.”
“I like to be the inevitable, thank you very much,” Rainbow said, holding her plate out as the group collected all of the non-meat onto it. “I'm risking an awful lot by being in this friggin' place, but even I've got standards.”
“Indeed.” Seraphimus' eyes narrowed at her. “And just what do you think Lexxic is testing for you?”
“He talks all the time about 'sacrifice,' huh?” Rainbow's jaw clenched as she placed the plate down before her. “Well, two can play at that game.”
“I'd be careful before attempting to meet him at such a measure.”
“Oh, I think there's a huge distance yet to cross there, Sera.”
“I... wouldn't...” Shriike said.
Ariel, Wildcard and Rainbow looked at Shriike. “Wouldn't what?” Ariel asked.
“I mean...” Shriike fidgeted, looking disdainfully at the heaping mass of gray mush. “... … … from what I've read, wry'kyl'myk is fine in small quantities, but that much of it...?”
“I thought you said it was rich in carbohydrates and—”
“Indeed. On paper, it's quite nourishing. But most Bloodwings only indulge if they intend to visit the vomitorium.”
“... … ...vomitorium.” Ariel stared.
“Yes. You think honorable Sons of Nightmares are fat gluttonous slobs?” Shriike upturned her nose. “An obese army would fail to so much as breathe on the Sarcophagus! Here at the Hall of Honor, the feast is an experience. But all this excess meat? It serves a better purpose in the lower roots and the pit. So, a lot of it is... repurposed.”
“... … ...repurposed.”
“Mmmhmmm.” Shriike took a tiny nibble. “But I'm no warrior. I intend to only have a small helping.” She bit off another strip of meat and made a juicy smile. “It might be a tad bit barbaric to indulge, but they force you to use utensils up in the Sanctum.” She giggled, wriggingly briefly in her seat with foalish delight. “Ohhhhhh I feel like such a dirty dirty nimrod...”
The rest of the Heraldites looked at one another.
Courageously, Wildcard pinched off a bit of the mush from Rainbow's plate and took a bite. He savored the morsel, gazing off into empty space. His goggles hovered icily in place, but the rest of his body noticeably shuddered. Rainbow could see his lion's tail zig-zagging then forcefully curling in on itself. The veteran Desperado merely looked at Rainbow and gave a sad nod.
“We can't express bitterness with our beaks,” Seraphimus said. “I'm afraid that's the best preview you're going to get.”
Rainbow looked disdainfully at her plate.
“Heh...” Discord reclined in midair. “...nopony said anything about 'pooping east', did they?” A wink. “Diarrheaustraeoh?”
A hushed bevy of chuckles rippled across the table. Rainbow Dash looked up. More than a few Bloodwings were smirking her way, waiting to see what she might do. Lexxic was speaking with Spek'kl, seemingly in another world. But from afar—with the angle at which the First Son's head was tilted—Rainbow could swear a prismatic reflection was being consistently shone back at her. Patient. Judging.
“Hmmm... joke's on him...” Rainbow gathered a chunk of the gray matter in her fetlock and raised it to her muzzle. “...to learn how few craps I have left to give.”
“You wanna bet your life on it?”
“Why not?” Rainbow shrugged. “I've already gambled yours.”
“Oooooh. I'm wounded, Sparky.”
“Keep hoping.” And she took the first bite. Her insides rippled up and down—teetered on the brink—then took a nauseous slide back down to anxious normalcy. “Ah yes. Bile, my old friend.”