//------------------------------// // 15-The Hunt // Story: A Changeling Queen Under the Griffon's Crown // by DungeonMiner //------------------------------// Chapter 15 Markus paced the throne room. This did not bode well. The Pendragon was here. Not one hour ago, Markus had learned of his arrival, and he still had not come up with a proper plan to respond to him. “He was supposed to be dead,” he thought. “I was never going to have to see him again. I’d...I’d never have to look him in the eyes as he tried to kill me…” The griffon shivered. The image of their last meeting burned in his mind. A changeling entered the room, staring at the false king as he stood in the moonlight. “Your Majesty,” the creature hissed. “This One has news.” Markus sighed. “Speak, drone.” “There is another incident.” “Another?” Markus asked. That was the fourth one. This was not good. The Pendragon was obviously working his way up, causing all of these distractions to take his focus off of the deadly unicorn. “I know what game you’re playing, Pendragon,” Markus muttered. “Send more of the unwilling griffons to take care of it. Keep the loyalists up here.” “Yes, Your Majesty,” the drone replied. Markus watched the stars in silence as the changeling left his presence, lost in thought. “I know what you’re doing, Pendragon. I know.” The griffon sneered before turning from the window, and stepping into the shadows of the room. “I won’t let you take this from me again.” <<<|Ω|>>> Pinkie was never one to really walk. It just wasn’t her thing. “Why walk when you can run?” was the motto of some ponies. For Pinkie, the question was more, “Why walk when you can bounce?” And bounce she did. As it just so happened, the corridor she and her coltfriend were traveling down, was just the right size for her Pepe-le-Pu-esque gait. Her mane barely touched the ceiling of the hall, and it was more than wide enough for her to bound next to her favorite stallion. “Pinkie,” Soarin said, watching his mare jump. “Yes~?” “Aren’t I the pegasus in this relationship?” “You are!” she answered. “Then why do you consistently get more air than I do?” “Oh, that easy!” Pinkie said, continuing to bound. “You don’t fly as much as you should, but I have to walk all the time.” Soarin blinked. “I...uh…what?” “Come on!” she said, bounding around the corner. Soarin blinked. Sighing, he gave a small smile. “You could have had any mare in the world, Soarin,” he muttered to himself. “Of all the mares in Equestria, you had to fall for the crazy one.” “Say something, Soary?” Pinkie called from around the corner. “Just thinking about how special you are.” “One in eight hundred and sixty-three million, nine hundred and twenty-six thousand, seven hundred and ninety...wait for it...two!” Soarin blinked. “Um...did you just…?” “Did I just what?” Soarin took a good look at his pink, soon-to-be bride. “Nothing, just, nevermind.” She gave him a massive smile. “See, you’re learning!” And then, just as she turned back to face forward, she began the twenty-seventh round of “would you rather?” “Would you rather eat a stick of butter, or snort a tablespoon of salt?” “The butter,” he answered quickly. “It might clog my arteries for the next three years, but that’s easier to ignore than the burn that the salt’s going to give me.” <<<|Ω|>>> The two ponies walked/bounced along, happily talking and laughing with each other. “Ooh, that’s a toughie!” Pinkie said. Her face scrunched in thought as her mind began to ponder this great question. “Being late, I think. If I was never prepared, then I would have no reason stock up on secret ball staches for ball emergencies!” “Sounds reasonable,” Soarin agreed. “Alrighty then, Mr. Pielover, here’s another one. If you had to pick one, would you rather eat nothing but poorly baked pie for the rest of your life…” Soarin’s face became horrified at the thought. “Or, you never taste pie again.” He nearly fainted. Staggering, almost as though from a great blow, the pegasus stumbled forward. He recovered, his eyes now staring straight at her as though she had just spoken the darkest of blasphemies against Luna, Celestia, Faust, and all good things in the world. “How...how can y—How can a pony so lovely, so amazing, so talented at her craft even think of such a horrible fate?” Pinkie merely stopped and smiled at him, a devious glint hiding in her eyes. “I...I…” he began, his mind searching for an answer to this impossible question. “I suppose the best thing would never have to taste pie again at all,” he said finally. “That way...that I wouldn’t have to soil the good honor of pie by eating perversions of it for the rest of my life. At least...at least this way, I can remember it, recall pie’s true form and function. Relive the sweet, pure taste of it’s true and holy essence. Enshrine its—” Two pink hooves slammed onto his muzzle, cutting his soliloquy short. “Sh!” Pinkie shushed in a harsh whisper, before explaining with the phrase, “Ear flop, achy elbow, twitchy nose.” Soarin blinked again. Oh! Right, Pinkie Sense. That’s a thing. Pinkie carefully guided Soarin to one side of the hallway, up against the wall. Silence. Soarin opened his mouth to speak again, only to have it snapped shut again. “Sh!” Another second of silence. And then a warm orange light began to color the hallway. A torch, held aloft by an unseen figure, slowly made its way across a T-intersection further down the way, just as two voices made their way to the two ponies. “I’m telling you, man, we are screwed six ways to Sunday.” “You’re overreacting,” the second voice said, “we’re going to be fine.” Two griffon-shaped shadows appeared at the end of the hallway, silhouetted by the torch the larger of the two carried. Pinkie and Soarin were just out of the warm glow of the flame, and still hidden in darkness. “Fine!?” the smaller griffon asked. “Do you know who we’re dealing with, man!?” “Here we go again,” the larger muttered. “It’s the Pendragon. The Pendragon! Back from the dead and with the fury of the Nine Hells behind him!” “That’s ridiculous. Griffons, er, ponies don’t come back from the—” “Not normal ponies,” the smaller agreed. “But the Pendragon is not a normal pony, man!” The larger one sighed, stopping to turn to his smaller friend. “The Pendragon is not normal, man!” the smaller one insisted. “He doesn’t think like a pony, he doesn’t move like a pony. I don’t know about you, but I was there, man. I was there on the battlefield. The way his eyes moved across the battle, the way his sword cut through the air, man...he...he’s not mortal, man. He is something else. If he wanted to get somewhere, it was almost as if the war got out of his way.” Soarin noticed that Pinkie’s mane had gone straight again. “That’s how he was able to get to Ironclaw all those times, man! You could have built a fortress around him, and all he had to do is look at it before there would a hole just large enough for him to slip through.” You could almost hear the larger one rolling his eyes. “Hey, man, the changelings said it was him, and if there was ever a pony who could beat Death, it’d be him.” “Now you’re just being ridiculous.” “But even if it’s not him, man, the worst part are those mares.” Soarin’s ears perked. The girls? Really? “What are you going on about?” “Don’t tell me you don’t remember, man. How about the purple unicorn, the Keeper of the Door of Oblivion, you know who she is, don’cha, man?” “Yeah, she’s—” “She was the Pendragon’s mare.” The larger one went silent. “The day the Iron Crown killed him was their wedding day, man. Even if the Pendragon is still dead, now that she knows where they are, then we’re in trouble, man. Really, haven’t you thought about this? Those mares that were his friends, and more, man? Haven’t you thought about what they’re going to do to us?” “I...well...I…” “Are you ready to fight a dragon, man? Because he was friends with the Diamond Death too, and you know who she’s guarded by, right?” “Well, ah…” “And what about the Prismatic Thunder? Or the Lady of the Deathly Chain? Or how about the Pony of Living Thunder, the one that guards the Gentle Hoof? And don’t even get me started on the Pink Terror, man.” Soarin regarded the smaller griffon. “What? No mention of the rest of us?” “Look, man, I don’t care what you think about the Pendragon. It’s those mares you gotta worry about.” “Well,” the larger one said, “what do you think we should do?” “I...I don’t know, man, but I’m more than willing to feed them all to our handlers.” The larger one snorted, before he began to move forward. “Best thing I heard you say all day.” And with that, the two slowly disappeared around the corner, the light following them as they walked. Soarin noticed Pinkie begin to smile.Her mouth was wide, her mane flat, and eyes narrow. War Pinkie was back. “Seems like somegriffon’s a little scared, Soary. Let’s throw them a little Nightmare Night Party.” <<<|Ω|>>> Onil and Lomo returned to the other griffons in the eastern, fifth-level armory, all surrounded by a small swarm of changelings that clung to the walls and ceiling. “Find anything, Flamerain?” Onil, the smaller griffon, shook his head. “Nah, man. Nothing at all.” “Check again,” a changeling above them hissed. “Hey!” one of the griffons yelled. “Why don’t you check for once, huh?” “Yeah! Why do you get to sit up there and lord over us? Huh?” another, grey-feathered griffon asked. “Do you want to see your wife again?” the changeling asked. “This One can do that for you,” the changeling threatened before his face went up in green flame, revealing a lioness’ face. “It hurts!” the mimicked face cried. “Make it stop, make it sto-o-op!” The changelings chuckled darkly. The grey-feathered griffon growled. “You lay one hoof on my wife, and I’ll—” “Hey! What’s that?” one of the griffons said, pointing. All eyes snapped towards singled out hallway, as something began to emerge from the shadows. It was a balloon. A light blue, latex balloon that slowly hovered its way into the armory, prodded by a breeze that no one there felt. Everyone stared at it. One of the griffons grabbed the string that trailed along the ground, and brought it closer. “Its a balloon,” one of the griffons said, trying to process what he was seeing by saying it aloud. Everyone just stared at it. “Hey, hey, man, do you hear that?” They all strained their ears, changelings included, to listen. “Yo ho, Yo ho, A pirate’s life for me.” The haunting song wafted up from the hallway, it’s notes slightly off and dissonant. “Yo ho, Yo ho…” The song faded away. The grey-feathered griffon’s eyes widened, and began to back away. There was the sound of ringing steel and a flash of light on a blade in the darkness of the hallway. Something was coming. Metal scraping against stone began to sound, followed by the dissonant notes of a hummed tune. “Wh-what is that?” one of them asked. Onil Flamerain’s eyes went wide, as his mind flashed back to that day he stood on the Ira Solaris. She had been there. Her mane flowing like a waterfall of diluted blood, her smile twisted and malicious, her eyes glinting with a terrible light. “She’s here…” he whispered. “Drink up, me Hearties…” her voice said, her golden armor catching the torchlight as she stood, enshrouded in darkness. “Yo Ho.” Suddenly, something roared, the words lost as a pegasus of flame erupted forward. “It’s a demon!” one of the griffons cried. “The Pink Terror has the powers of Hell! Run!” The fiery pony-shaped bolt of fury slammed upwards, straight into the gathered changelings. “Run! Run, run, run!” the griffons yelled, stampeding over one another to push their way forward. The changelings screamed, the heat of the flames ignoring their protective exoskeletons. A pink pony ran into the room, cutlass flashing. Hissing, the changelings retreated, following the griffons as they ran from the armory. Pinkamena was quick to grab one as they left, driving her cutlass between the plates on its chest in a splatter of clear blood. Within seconds, the room was empty. “Three dead,” Soarin said, the flame that wreathed his body retreating into his amulet. “Make it four,” Pinkamena deadpanned as she slid the body off her blade. As she wiped the blood off her blade her eyes quickly scanned the room. “We’re in the armory,” she noted. Soarin looked up. “Huh. I guess we are…” Pinkamena smiled. “You know what that means don’tcha?” Soarin looked over at her. “Uh…” Pinkamena smiled. “If they can’t come back here, they won’t have their weapons anymore.” Her mane puffed up slightly. “Grab what you want, Soary, it won’t be here much longer.” “I, uh…” Pinkie’s mane bounced slightly as she made a rather elaborate kick at a locked chest. Destroying the lock with her kick, she quickly opened it. “Ooh! Twin scimitars!” she squealed, tossing the cutlass in favor of the twin blades. The almost straight, sweeping blades glimmered in the torchlight. The redwood handles were capped in brass, and carefully carved. Sliding them home into the metal-backed leather loops in her belt, she took a moment to pose. “Drizzt Do’urden’s got nothing on me.” Soarin blinked. “What?” She ignored him, diving into the chest again. “See anything you like Soary?” He looked over at her, rear end flapping through the air as she dug through the chest, before turning to search the room himself. “Nothing so far.” Pinkie, unsatisfied with the chest, quickly turned to another. Soarin dug around, before finding a good spear. “Ooh! Crossbow!” Pinkie said, holding a new, hoof-held crossbow. “Got to grab some bolts!” she said aloud. Quickly finding a side quiver, she threw it on before turning to the pegasus behind her. “You ready?” Soarin nodded. “Alright!” she said, before reaching into her slowly inflating mane. She pulled out a bomb. An honest-to-goodness, spherical bomb, complete with slow-burning fuse. She smiled, before tossing it casually over her withers. “Then we should go. Can’t be late for the next party, can we?” The two walked out of the room in silence, Pinkie smiling, while Soarin gave a careful glance her way. He didn’t even turn away when the explosion went off, ruining the weapons still in the armory. <<<|Ω|>>> Onil leaned up against a wall, panting heavily. She was everywhere. Everywhere they turned they could hear her laughter, catch a glimpse of light glinting off her blades, or hear the echo of her laugh. So far, they had been lucky. Everytime they she had caught up with them, they lost another changeling. Not a great loss, as far as Onil was concerned, but they were running out of the little meat shields. Before long she’d be coming after them. He put his back to the wall, sliding down to the floor. "We're not going to make it, man," he said. The others around him fell to ground, similarly exhausted. “Sh-she’s everywhere, man.” A changeling kicked him. “Get up. We have to keep moving.” Onil didn’t get up. “This One said, get up.” “Go Gjok yourself, man.” “If you want to see your wife and children again, This One woul—” “This One would. That One would. Man, can you guys speak normal?” Olin asked. “If I want to see my wife and hatchlings again, I would need a chance to live long enough to see them. We don’t have that. You don’t have that, changeling. And if I’m going to die, I don’t want to die tired.” The changeling blinked, before it began to snarl. “This One thinks that you are going to be dying much sooner than you think.” “Like I said, go Gjok yourself, man.” The Changeling hissed, as its horn began to glow. Just enough to reveal the crazed face of Pinkamena’s face behind him. Onil barely had time to scream before the flash of twin blades severed the changelings head from its body. And then his voice caught up with him. “She’s here!” She cackled madly. “Run, run, run! As fast as you can! You can’t hide from me, I’m death’s demand!” They ran, all of them, many of them picking themselves off the ground before they half-flapped, half-ran down the hall. Pinkamena laughed behind them, chasing after them. Soarin was slow to follow. She ran after them, her mad laugh echoing off the tight walls of the mountain fortress. They all quickly ducked into a room, and the Pink Terror smiled evilly as she watched them cower. Soarin landed next to her. “Hey Soarin, you know what’s a shame?” “What?” he asked her, brow furrowed and a frown on his face. “We’re not fighting Diamond Dogs.” “What? Why?” “Haven’t you heard?” She asked smiling, before reaching behind her. She suddenly yanked something forward, the clink-clink-clank of the Party-ggeddon cannon locking into place. “Bitches love cannons.” Kra-boom! A cannonball shot forward, exploding into confetti and cake that quickly filled the room. Pinkamena laughed as she watched the griffons scramble out of the room. . Soarin frowned. <<<|Ω|>>> Onil and the others burst into another room, many of them panting heavily. “I-I can’t run anymore, man. I...I can’t run anymore.” One of the griffons fell flat on his face, his wings flapping pathetically. “We’re-we’re going to die here, man! We’re all going to die here!” The others either gave panicked responses or simply laid down, their despair and exhaustion taking hold over them. “This is the end...this is the end, man.” “You met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” a new, smug voice asked. All eyes searched for the source of the voice. They quickly found it. Set flush into one of the walls was a large cage. The thick, iron bars separating the poorly-lit room from the darkness in the cage. A figure stepped forward, and a wolf’s head came into view. “It pales in comparison to what I want to do to you, but I’ll settle for watching whatever terror is chasing you kill you slowly.” As Onil stared, he began to see more and more of the monster in the cage. A pair of large wings fluttered behind a stag’s body. The gleaming yellow eyes of the monster shone with a hatred that was matched only with the sharpness of the talons on its back legs. A twelve-point rack of black antlers glinted, just out of the light. He was staring at a peryton. Onil stared at the monster of nightmares and fears, the wolf head already drooling at the thought of the death it was going to witness. He stared up at it, and his mind began to whirl. “Peryton?” “What, Dinner?” in replied angrily. “There...there is a pony chasing us, man.” The ears on the wolf head peaked, and it leveled its glare at him. “A pony?” “Yes, a pony, a monster on the battlefield that has killed many griffons.” “Is that so?” “It is.” The peryton regarded him for a second. “I don’t believe you.” “You don’t have to, man,” Onil replied quickly. “Look, I’ve got a deal that I think we can all agree to, man. What we’re going to do is this, we are going to let you out of there—” The griffons squawked in alarm. “—and you are going down there to take the pony out, man.” “Are you nuts, Flamerain?” a griffon said, rushing in front of him, blocking his view to the monster in the cage. “Hear me out, man! Hear me out!” Onil said. “No! No we are not letting that thing out of there! It’s a monster!” “A monster we can use to fight another monster,” Onil pointed out. “It just called you ‘Dinner.’ Do you really think it’s just going to ignore us?” Onil pulled the griffon close to him. “Listen, man, perytons hate everything, right?” “Yeah.” “Even each other?” “Right.” “Right. But of all the things it likes to kill, it loves the taste of pony flesh the most,” he said whispering. “I’m willing to bet my hide that the monster in there is going to take the bait, and by the time he gets back, whether the Pink Terror is dead or not, we’ll be long gone, man.” The griffon took a long hard look at Onil. “You’re going to get us all killed,” he said, before pushing himself away from the crazed griffon. Onil smiled. “Yeah, so like I said, man,” his said, confidence growing with every word. “We let you go, you take care of the pony.” “And if there’s no pony?” “Then you get to come back and eat us all, man.” The peryton smiled. “Your heart will be delicious.” Onil nodded. “I’m sure.” The cage swung open. <<<|Ω|>>> The two ponies followed the haphazard trail of the running griffons. Pinkamena dragged one of the scimitars along the floor behind her. Soarin stared at her. Her mouth was drawn into a tight, manic smile, and her eyes glinted with an almost predatory light. “Pinkie,” Soarin said, “Sweetie Pie?” “Yeah?” she asked, her mane instantly poofing as she turned to face him. “Are...are…” “What is it, Soary?” she asked, beginning to frown. “Are...are you alright?” “Yeah!” she replied happily. He looked at her again. “Are...you sure?” “I should hope so!” she answered. “It would be awful if I couldn’t be sure.” Soarin sighed. “Alright...alright. Just...could you tone it down a little?” “Tone what down?” “The whole...madmare thing. It’s...it’s kinda unsettling.” “Well, duh! It’s supposed to be!” she said, swinging her blade around. “Got to get into the mind of the enemy, throw them off, and then make sure they’re never a problem again.” Soaring muttered. “I don’t think it’s worth it.” “What do you mean?” Pinkie asked, tilting her head. “What do I mean?” Soarin asked. “Ju-just look at you! You-you’re acting like some kinda of serial killer, Pinkie! You’re hunting these guys down like...like...like I don’t know what! It’s...it’s scary!” “Well, it’s supposed to be scary,” Pinkie replied. “Scary for me too? To watch the mare I love turn into some sort of monster I don’t recognize?” “I...I’ve done this before, you know...” “Not like this!” Soarin yelled. “Never like this! You acted nuts, yeah, but you never hunted them down. You scared them off, not terrified them to death!” “I—” “I can’t stand watching you act like that!” he yelled. There was silence. “I...I don’t like it,” he said. “I don’t like seeing the mare I love turn into a monster.” “Soary…” Pinkie began, “I...I’m sorry. I...it’s just an act.” “I know it is, Pinkie. I know it is,” he said. “But...but, you...you don’t need to keep chasing them now.” Pinkie blinked, before looking down the hallway. She was silent for a long time. “Yeah…” she said finally, “yeah I think we can find a different way to go. They’ve had enough scaring for one night…” Soarin gave her a small smile as she sheathed her blades. “Thank you, Pinkie.” “I’m sorry, Soarin…” He smiled. “It’s...it’s alright, Pinkie. I just want the Pinkie I know back.” She smiled, nuzzling him. “I’ll be here.” Soarin smiled down at her. A howl echoed down the hall. Soarin looked up, and quickly shoved his mare to the side before a massive thing slammed into him, sending the spear from his grasp. Pinkie watched in terror as a massive creature slammed into her coltfriend, black antlers digging into his chest. A lupine face stared at Soarin. “What’s this? Two hearts to eat? I may just let those griffons live for this.” Soarin quickly opened one of his hoof blades and dug his claws into the peryton’s shoulder. It gave a lupine yelp, pushing itself away from the armed pony. “Then again,” it said with a smile. “Maybe not.” Soarin pushed himself up, blood dripping from twelve punctures in his chest where the antlers had dug into his skin. Pinkie jumped over to him, drawing her scimitars. “Soarin, Sorain, are you alright?” Soarin snapped open his other hoofclaws, and flared his wings to reveal the wing blades on his back. “I’ll be fine in a second.” The peryton snarled. “Oh I doubt that, my little pony. I doubt that.” -------------------------------- “Guess who’s back, baby!” Hey! Great to see you! Get to work. “Wha—?” “Heya! Kilokk! Where’ve ya been?” “Terrible places.” Hey! Enough chit-chat! I have an end-card to get to. “Well, excuse us, Bossy-pants!” *rolls eyes* Hey, guys! We got another chapter done. “I think they guessed that.” Next time, it’s going to be AJ and Silver, so y’all bes get ready for a hoedown! “Oh, please don’t.” So anyway, guys. We’ll see you all next time! “Bye!”