//------------------------------//
// Day 2: The Willing Death of a Pony 
// Story: Perspectives 
// by dzamie 
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Pony

toda the to mersinaris reternd with most of my chikins unfortunitle thair wer onle ten left. i usd to hav to mor then that. stil i pad the unikorn the mone becuz she did stil go to the dragons cav and she brot bak my chikins. the pegusis waznt thair i ges he went hom erle. the chikins ar skard and tha probable wont la egs for awil. but ten mor chikins is beter then nun.


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Dragon


Today I learned that chickens really do get up with the sun. Their infernal clucking was what woke me up far too early from my slumber; I do wish I had been able to reach them in their fortuitous hidey-holes. Ah, however that is not the most interesting thing that happened today. A pegasus-pony and a changeling actually came to remove the chickens from my cave. The changeling was disguised, of course (I can hardly imagine a pony voluntarily working with a changeling), but changeling disguises are quite a simple matter for my gaze to pierce. The changeling/unicorn, as that is what it/she had changed into, was very diplomatic in her approach; I almost wish the same could be said of its/her colleague, for he'd've lived longer. But back to my story. The changeling told me of its/her objective, to “rescue” the chickens, and I informed it/her that I had already eaten two of them, but the rest escaped my grasp, and I was willing to have them removed as it would stop their incessant noise-making. It/She took it rather well, and set towards using its/her magic to pull the fowl from their holes and to place them in a cage. The pegasus, on the other hand, showed a remarkable lack of common sense and knowledge of a dragon's digestive system. He seemed absolutely infuriated that I would dare eat food that I had stolen, and seemed intent on freeing the avians from whatever fate had oh so surely kept them alive for an entire day and night. By which I mean, he flew up to my face, pried open my jaws, and flew inside. Naturally, I shut them, with the intent to open them if he put up a fight (it is surprisingly painful to be bruised on the inside of one's mouth). He did no such thing; in fact, he tried to crawl towards the back of my throat, presumably with intent to free the white-feathered nuisances from my stomach. Clearly, there was only one thing to do: help him along in his mission. I guess he noticed quickly my plans, as he tried to put up a fight as I swallowed him down. Emphasis on “tried,” of course; today was also the day I learned how absolutely wonderful it feels, at least for me, to have prey try to escape after their doom is sealed. Apparently the changeling saw me eat her partner, but ignored my actions in favor of labeling the ex-pony as an, what was it again, “overconfident, noobish buffoon who should never have graduated the academy.” Anyway, I made sure to watch it/her to make sure it/she didn't take anything but the chickens; I know the place and quantity of each bit of my hoard, and get extremely angry when part is missing. The changeling quickly finished up and departed, showing seemingly no interest in my treasure trove. Good. I decided not to have dinner tonight; I've stated previously that dragons can have very slow metabolisms, and an energetic pegasus-pony will likely tide me over for almost a week if necessary. 


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Changeling

Journal Entry #2
As previously documented, this entry is to be used to address several major misconceptions that ponies seem to have about changelings. Primarily, the main fear is that changelings can only steal love, by either assuming the position of a significant other, or by comparatively more forceful methods, which have frequently been described as, to use the vernacular, “sticking ponies in green pods and drinking 'til they're a dry husk without emotion.” This, like many misconceptions, has likely been perpetuated by the unsuccessful attack of Chrysalis' hive on Canterlot. While it is indeed true that both methods may be used by changeling to obtain nourishment, they are far from the most frequently-utilized. The most common method, especially once a hive has expanded to a stable size, is to create an entirely original persona by designing and perfecting a physical appearance, a set of mannerisms, an amicable personality, and most importantly, with definite stress on that phrase, a solid backstory. Personally, I could easily give anypony a perfect tale of why “I” have a dagger over a pile of coins as a cutie mark. It takes a rather respectable amount of work, and many changelings who have achieved fame in equine culture have done so through writing, as they are accustomed to such fabrication of complete characters. However, once such a persona has been designed, the changeling is, for all practical and social purposes, an independent pony, and as such, the majority of their nourishment is derived from positive social interaction with “natural” ponies. Converts, because they do not receive the training native changelings undergo from birth, are most commonly guided to assume the life of their former self, and with a few exceptions where the Convert was of a disagreeable character, such changelings thrive in their past life. A second misconception is that changelings do more than feed off of the emotion of love; they also survive on it, and therefore will die without it. This idea has spawned a few derivatives, the two most notable are that changelings receive no nutrition from non-emotion food such as hayburgers or meatballs, and that hating a changeling will result in the termination of the changeling's life. Both assertions, while not unfounded, are incorrect. To address the second point first: hate and negative emotions are simply not consumed by changelings, however, they may still have a psychological effect. In rare, severe cases, especially when it is considered that Equestria is primarily a strife-free nation, changelings lacking the support of the Hivemind, either by magical or physical means, have been known to enter depression, and commit suicide. The general consensus of changelings indicates that the most tragic component of such an occurrence is the general indifference, or occasional jubilation, of the equine populous upon the discovery that the victim was not one of their own. Recovering from such a morbid topic, the other incorrect assumption asserts that changelings gain no benefit from physical food products. The basis for this is due to changelings' proclivity towards a feast of emotions. The reason for such a tendency is marginally less impressive, that is, changelings primarily consume positive emotions due to taste preferences; a morsel of admiration, when compared to even the highest quality apple cider, tastes as a luscious cake does in comparison to a solitary blade of common grass.
I think I'll start with something other than the mess of stupidity that was the mercenary job. I realize that I've never described myself. Since this journal is being written with half-intent for it to be read eventually, I may as well give the reader some information about me. I currently appear as a changeling of average size, female of course, with probably about 1/3 of the surface area of my legs are occupied by “holes.” As for my eyes, I have made the decision to change their color to yellow, in part because I believe they look quite well on me, and in part that, in the event that I'm found out and captured, ponies will hopefully think that I am not of Chrysalis' hive, and am therefore not necessarily hostile. My most frequent pony form, which I have described in my first entry, has a pair of crossed daggers over a pile of gold coins. I have been her ever since “she” arrived in my current town, two years, seven months, and a week ago. I can recall the events of my first day perfectly, although that is less a measure of nostalgic memory and more a means of proving my legitimacy should I ever be revealed as a changeling. But now for the actual happenings of the day. As usual, I woke up, scanned any popular information threads floating through the Hivemind, read the pony paper for local news, transformed, and walked to my place of occupation. Once there, I got a light “breakfast” from chatting it up with some coworkers (I'm not so much stealing their energy as using the energy freely given to me as food) and waiting for Cirrus Strider. He wasn't long, and as soon as he arrived, we set off for the dragon's mountain. Once we got to the right mountain, we quickly located the cave by the sound of clucking chickens. I have never heard louder birds. At the cave, I noticed that the dragon was already awake, and decided that we'd have a better chance of surviving by announcing our presence immediately rather than sneaking around and being caught as thieves. So, I introduced myself and Cirrus as a pair of ponies on a simple fetch quest for some chickens. Luckily, the big beast was apparently quite disgruntled with the pilfered fowl, and said that we could have all the chickens save the two he'd already eaten, if we could remove them from their locations of hiding. I quickly located a pair in a near wall, putting them in a magically-summoned cage before I heard Cirrus' voice. He seemed positively infuriated that the dragon had eaten two of the chickens. I turned around, and was about to inform him that we'd likely be paid in full, or at least the corresponding 5/6, when I was stopped in my tracks upon witnessing his reckless action. He had flown up to the dragon, and as I, dumbstruck, watched, pried open its jaws and dove towards the back of his mouth. The dragon seemed almost as surprised as I was, but quickly regained its composure and closed its mouth. Hoping that Cirrus would've come to his senses and tried to fight his way out or at the very least attempt to provoke the dragon's gag reflex, I glanced away and spotted a few more chickens, which I extracted and placed into the cage with telekinesis; this took approximately half a minute. Suddenly, I heard a loud gulp, and quickly turned to see a moving bulge travel down the dragon's neck. When the dragon turned to face me, I froze. My expression changed to the most perplexed look I could muster, however, when I heard the dragon remark to himself how strange it was that my partner hadn't tried to escape. Swearing under my breath, I returned to my original objective, eventually locating all ten chickens. Thinking back, I guess that dragonscale might possess soundproof qualities, the alternative being that Cirrus actually enjoyed being swallowed alive by the reptile. Why would he.. well, maybe... Anyway, back on track, I returned to town, traveling directly to the farmpony's house (I could find my way due to it being one of two farms within a couple dozen kilometers), where I “neglected” to inform him of my partner's peril. Still, he was very positive about the whole thing, and he even gave me both halves of the payment to deliver to Cirrus. I let the chickens out of the cage where he directed, then departed to sign off back at the mercenary building. Ponies, of course, took notice of my conspicuous lack of pegasus companion. Since it would've been fruitless and incredibly dubious to try to cover up his untimely demise, I described to those who would ask of how he fed himself to the dragon, and was certain to explain that he had seemingly voluntarily offered himself to the dragon as food. Most of the ponies I told were falsely sympathetic, secretly harboring disdain towards the late pegasus. To anyponybody reading this (rather presumptuous to assume that ponies would be the only recipients of these words), I could tell their true emotions past the false sympathy because changelings can identify emotions by taste in much the same way that a few exceptionally talented ponies can determine the age of a plant within a month, only by tasting it. After taking a few more odd jobs like helping to find a lost filly and settling a minor dispute between friends over a bet, I clocked out and headed home, once again assuming my yellow-eyed form upon entry to my home. Shortly before starting this entry, I started a topic-thread describing the encounter with the dragon and his chickens, and the demise of Cirrus Strider, the newly-graduated pegasus-pony. I think tomorrow I'll give a brief overview of changeling training here. Nothing too detailed, of course, as that would potentially curtail the security and effectiveness of the actual training, and while documenting changeling life is a prominent objective of mine, the success of the Hive is a far greater one.


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Griffon


Today sucked. That's all there is too it. It started out sucky when I realized that I'd only have enough money to continue buying food for another week or so, it got worse when I was fired by my racist pegasus manager, shortening that week to only a few days, and it pretty much hit rock bottom when I was told that Cirrus Strider, my friend for two years, had died on his second day of being a mercenary. Not only that, but my previous plan for food, asking the dragon to teach me how to hunt instead of killing me, involved the same dragon as the one who ate Cirrus! If I didn't know better, I'd say he's got a personal vendettah, or however you spell it, against me! As for the “getting fired” thing, I was told that the company “didn't have enough on the payroll to support a griffon, even part-time.” Horseapples! I have personally been at least thrice as productive, by the numbers, as two of my pegasus coworkers combined! And when I pointed out that particular statistic, he responded by accusing me of just wanting “good, honest, hardworking ponies” with oh-so-special emphasis on the PONIES, “on the street so you pony-eater can have an easy meal.” Seriously, if this guy had been reading the news for the past probably half a century, he'd know that griffon-on-pony violent crimes had been reduced to nearly two a year, a tiny sliver compared to the pony-on-pony statistic. Unfortunately for him, he's given me the means of my own redemption (or death, but let's hope I survive). I've finally hit the lowest possible point. I have nothing to lose. It's a little late now, but tomorrow I am going to that dragon's cave, and I'll get hunting lessons from a dragon, or die trying.