Of Ink and Quill

by Fiddlove Enfemme

1 - A Walk in the Woods

The sun rose high above the castle as a solitary figure made its way down the castle steps. He was a strange unicorn, wearing a pair of odd metal boots on his forelegs and carrying some worn old saddlebags. His coat was parchment brown, his mane a darker (if uninspired) brown. His cutie mark was like a spill of black ink, a stain that meant everything and yet nothing.

Perhaps he was a traveler, a writer of some kind. Here in Ponyville to write the Great Equestrian Novel.

But he wasn't a writer. His name was Ink Blot. Or at least, that's what he went by these days. None would guess that he came from another world, one that had known great suffering and despair. His old name, which no one still living knew, was Liam Archer. A human. A soldier. He'd been thrown out of his world by forces outside of his control, and lost his memories. He'd spent his first week trying to recover them. He'd met some good people who'd offered him their help.

Well, he had them back now. And he was trapped in Equestria, in a land as foreign to him as the one a council of old men had decided would be the battleground for their petty wars of self-interest. He'd served in that war. Seen a lot of good men and women give up their lives for something they'd thought was a just cause.

Where was he going? To a memorial he'd made in the woods, for a brother-in-arms; Isaiah Knight, longtime friend and fellow veteran of the war, who'd given his life to protect Archer.

Ink Blot had erected a small cross in the woods near where he'd first appeared in Equestria, in a little glade near the western border of the Everfree Forest. Around the cross's base was a pile of stones, and from the cross hung a small necklace. Or at least, it could be mistaken for one. In actuality it was a form of identification, embossed discs of steel no larger than a bottlecap with the soldier's particulars written on them.

It was all Ink Blot had left of Knight.

He'd been coming here every day since he'd recovered from the process that had returned his memories to him. Mourning for a past that had never been, for a future that never would be, trying to keep hold of what he could.

"He meant a lot to you, didn't he?" asked a familiar voice from the shadows.

Ink Blot smiled briefly, knowing exactly who was talking to him. "Did I ever tell you about the time we played a prank on our instructors? Replaced the chocolate in their field rations with laxatives made to look like Prince's bars. My idea, but Knight took the fall for it the next day. I felt guilty about him doing that for me and offered to watch eachother's backs."

"Was that during your training?" asked Quill the Changeling, creeping out from the dying undergrowth. He sat down beside Ink Blot.

"Yeah," Ink Blot replied. "We didn't hate our instructors -- they were only doing their jobs, after all. The harder your instructors were, the easier it'd be when you got down to the actual fighting. At least that was the theory. Did it work? Not always. The important thing to remember was that they were doing it because that's what they'd been told."

"Was it hard?"

Ink Blot shrugged. "Not as hard as they made it out to be. When I went through, it was mostly just a filter that they tried to force as many people as possible through. They wanted to be able to replace losses as they came, they started gambling on how far they could push the bar between Quality and Quantity. More troops you had, the more you could do, but unless you had the time to properly train them all their overall performance would suffer. Fewer troops took less time to train, and you could train them more thoroughly. They wanted to find a balance that suited their needs."

"Sounds familiar," Quill chuckled.

"Was it like that in the Hive?" Ink Blot asked.

"Chrysalis wanted a hegemony. She wanted to control Equestria, but there would become a point where the Under-Hives would grow in power and influence, where eventually there'd be some kind of split. A rival Queen, diverting valuable resources to found her own Hive? Or even rising against Chrysalis to take control for herself? She wanted to be the only one in charge, and so she focused as much time to growing her own power as she did subverting Equestria." Quill said, comically rolling his eyes.

"You said she almost managed it, too."

"But in the end she didn't. Both times her plans were foiled by tiny details that had gone overlooked. Or maybe she'd miscalculated. I don't exactly know for myself, just what I've heard of after the fact." Quill frowned, trying to think of other possibilities. He fluttered his glittery wings pensively.

Ink Blot nodded. "What happened to the Under-Hives? Did they all join Thorax?"

"Ocellus says so," Quill shrugged. "But I don't believe it. There were six underhives, ringing the capital like spokes on a wheel. Chrysalis isn't dead, at least not yet, so unless they've completely embraced Friendship they could still have some loyalty to her. Or maybe there's a Queen larva they've been hiding all this time. Hard to know unless we saw them for ourselves."

"What makes you skeptical? Would Ocellus lie?"

Quill smiled and shook his head, like it was an obvious answer. "Ocellus wouldn't lie. Not in her nature to lie about something like that. But, there's more than one way to spread a lie. I should know better than most. I was made for it after all."

"So you're suggesting that Thorax hasn't given Equestria the entire truth, which includes Ocellus and his other emissaries?" Ink Blot said, trying to sum it up.

"Maybe... maybe. If he's half as smart as he pretends to be, then he'll try to keep internal divisions like that quiet. Chrysalis didn't get as far as she did without silencing dissent. Thorax got exiled because he threatened her power."

"But Chrysalis lost, and Thorax is in charge now," Ink Blot pointed out. "She got turned into a statue for all eternity."

"That also happened to Discord. He got petrified for millennia, but eventually escaped. When he did he wreaked havoc." Quill retorted.

"Discord was defeated as well, and now he spends his days drinking tea with a pegasus who likes taking care of animals."
Ink Blot countered.

Quill shook his head noncommittally. "True. But despite that he's not exactly a force of good. He helps when it pleases him, and usually not at all. Sometimes he even makes it worse."

"Also true." Ink Blot agreed.

A silence fell over them as they considered eachother's words. They had not come to a conclusion, but they had come closer to an agreement.

Eventually, Ink Blot felt the need to ask a question to keep the convesation going. "So, how are you getting on with all those friendship studies?"

"It's hard," Quill said. "My whole life, I was taught that friendship's just a means to an end, a way to get a quick snack when things were rough, to be inevitably discarded when your assignment came. And then, when Thorax took over, it felt... well... taboo. I said before that I thought it was a false flag to root out Changeling infiltrators?"

"Something along those lines."

"Well, it's because I was told that by one of Chrysalis's inner circle. Cardioid, one of her most trusted advisors. He was a real piece of work, helped iron out the plans for their Grand Infiltration, the one that Starlight and Thorax foiled. He came to me and told me not to believe their lies. And for some reason I believed him, despite how he was responsible for the deaths of my brood-mates."

"What happened to him?" Ink Blot asked curiously.

"I don't know." Quill confessed. He was quiet for a while as he thought about something. "You know, it's so different being out here than it was in the Hive. Under Chrysalis, it was all about power and dominance. Whoever was the strongest was the one who called the shots. Chrysalis was the strongest, and she made sure to pit her most dangerous potential rivals against one another instead of against her, offering to share her power with them in exchange for loyalty. She never had any intentions of returning that loyalty, of course, but it made for an... interesting hierarchy. It was cutthroat at the best of times. But out here? Trust goes a long way. I trust you, and I think you trust me. You wouldn't be so open about things with me otherwise."

"Infiltrator's intuition strikes again, I see." Ink Blot chuckled.

He shook his head and stressed his words. "Not intuition. Experience. Another Changeling from the old Hive would have ratted me out to the snatchers, but you didn't. You didn't have to let down your guard so I could try and see what was wrong with you, but you did. You didn't even have to talk to me when you saw me in the bakery that day. But you did. And so I trust you."

"You remind me a lot of him. You've got the same spirit he did. He'd be happy that there was someone to take over for him." Ink Blot smiled sadly, looking over to Knight's memorial.

"Maybe." Quill replied. "You gonna come back to town? It's not why I came, but Starlight said that she wanted you to consider the School of Friendship."

Ink Blot waved him off. "Eventually. I'd like a little while alone, then I'll pop by."

Quill nodded and let him be. He disappeared into the undergrowth, blending into the shadows like a panther. Ink Blot didn't worry though, and trusted that he'd been left alone. He breathed deeply and shut his eyes. Meditation was the key.

But... he was not at peace. His thoughts were clouded with doubt and confusion. He puzzled over what had led him to Equestria. What was it that the cult leader had said? Something about becoming a god? Tearing a hole in reality? Perhaps Zecora's metaphor ran deeper than he'd thought. Reality was a fabric, but alternate realities seemed to co-exist. Realities were created by decisions which diverged them from similar realities. Mind boggling stuff.

It disturbed him, thinking about the implications. Magic, by and large, was something not fully understood. Those who controlled it knew how to use it, but not why it worked. It just did. That meant that someone could conceivably do something without fully understanding the consequences. A butterfly flaps its wings, and creates a breeze that becomes a tornado. Exactly what Starlight had once done. Perhaps she had insight on the matter, or the good Doctor?

Ink Blot shook his head. It was too much, and all this existentialism was filling his heart with dread. Dread that he was small and insignificant, at the whims of higher powers. It was better to ignore such questions and live normally.

He needed to clear his head.

So, he decided to take a walk in the woods.

---

Even though the leaves had changed, the deep forest remained as dreary as ever. Strange noises echoes in the distance, and strange plants grew just off the beaten path. He was entering the Everfree Forest, feared by ponies for its unstable nature. Everything within was foreign to ponykind in some way, where life continued without their assistance or support. Creatures both magical and mundane made their homes there, and many dangers lurked in the darkness.

But Ink Blot was not daunted. He wasn't unafraid, but he did not let it affect him. The Everfree was one of few places that ponies feared to tread, which was precisely the reason why he felt more at ease. Elsewhere, the local fauna were too friendly, too ready to accept the presence of strange ponies. Back home the animals knew well not to approach humans. In the Everfree he was closer to home than he'd ever be in all of Equestria.

Not to say that he was unprepared. He'd been practicing with the hidden blades that Gyro had added to his boots alongside the rudimentary claws. He was by no means an expert -- he was experimenting with creating a unique martial art, after all -- but he was confident that he could defend himself if attacked. He also carried some back-up supplies in case he ran into a tough spot. Medical, survival, and the like.

But suddenly, Ink Blot halted. The hair on the back of his neck prickled. Something smelled... foul. And it was close. He looked around him cautiously. He knew that he wasn't alone, that something was stalking him. He flexed his muscles in anticipation, and prepared to stand his ground.

The tiniest sound gave his pursuers away. The clatter of wood on wood, tree branches rubbing together. Ink Blot turned slowly and identified a pair of glowing yellow orbs. The eyes of a predator. Ink Blot stared into them as he flicked open one of his blades...

The beast leapt forward, revealing itself! Ink Blot dropped and rolled to the side, as its claws whistled past his head and into the soft earth. He scrambled to his hooves and thrust his blade towards the beast desperately.

But his attack was hopeless. His blade glanced off the beast's craggy hide, and skated ineffectually down its side. Ink Blot drew away, his mind racing to figure out what to do. And in those moments he looked upon his foe, and understood his mistake.

It was a massive wolf, at least twice his height if not more. Except it wasn't flesh and blood, but wood and sap.

A Timberwolf.

Even though he'd never seen one in the bark before, the terrifying Timberwolves had a reputation. He'd heard the stories, but had dismissed them.

That was fine. He could defeat it, he just needed to figure out how.

The beast leapt forth once again, its teeth gnashing and claws slashing. But Ink Blot rolled to the side yet again, striking at its leg, where the wood was thin. His blade flew forward, and he felt his blade sink in...

...and become stuck.

The beast kicked in pain, throwing Ink Blot to the ground. It whimpered, but the whimper was soon followed by a bone-chilling growl.

As well as distant howling. A single voice that was joined by a chorus of its fellows.

The pack was approaching.

Shit, Ink Blot thought to himself.

Placing his free hoof on the beast's side, he heaved on the blade, trying to free it. The beast shook and snapped at him, but instinctively he struck first, lashing out with a powerful kick from his hind legs. He felt his hooves strike wood, which gave off a loud *Crunch!*.

He looked back, and saw that the beast's head had been knocked clean off! It flew to the ground a few feet away, shattering into its component scraps of wood. The pieces scattered across the forest floor, and soon the rest of the body gave a final shudder as it too fell apart.

Ink Blot frowned. Was it really that easy to destroy a Timberwolf? He didn't have longtime to linger on it, as he quickly spotted more pairs of eyes piercing the darkness.

He needed to get to safety. He stomped down on the piece of wood that still held is blade, and jerked it once more, side to side, trying to wiggle it free. Success! He quickly retracted the blade, and turned around. Without a moment to lose he charged blindly into the forest.

He could hear the wooden clatter of the Timberwolves behind him, nipping at his heels. He needed an escape route, fast.

There! A patch of brambles, thick and impassable. But not impassable for one who had something to cut them with. Ink Blot dove to the ground, ignoring how the gravel scraped his legs and hide, and hit the catch to release one of his blades. Gritting his teeth, he slashed at the base of the brambles. He quickly had a space large enough to fit himself in, and wasted no time in crawling under their prickly bulk.

The pack of Timberwolves chasing him halted not far from the brambles, either unwilling or unable to come any closer. Their leader pawed at the dirt and growled like a monstrous engine -- a clear threat. They did not advance any further, likely weighing the options of trying to roust their quarry from its hide. They watched Ink Blot as he huddled under the brambles, his blade at the ready.

Then the pack leader turned away, the rest of the Timberwolves following. There was easier prey to be found, and they had wasted enough time on this interloper. Ink Blot stared at them as they left. Only when they were long out of sight did he relax and breathe a sigh of relief.

He took some time to calm himself down before crawling out, his heartbeat returning to normal levels. He'd come a lot closer to death than he would have liked. It probably would have been a good idea to go back to town at this point, but there was something odd about where he'd ended up. He could feel it.

Ink Blot looked around. The only thing of interest was the brambles, which formed a ring around something very peculiar.

An exceptional large grey boulder.

It had a strange allure about it, an air of covetousness. It whispered at the farthest reaches of his mind, promising... wealth... riches... fortune...

He didn't want any of that, but the boulder intrigued him for other reasons. It was oddly round, like it had been shaped. Had it been rolled into place? How long ago? Not that long, or there would have been moss growing on it. Why was it there?

Ink Blot went closer, peering through the brambles as best he could. There was a hole on the other side of them, which the boulder rested beside. No... judging by the size of the entry and how it narrowed shortly after, the boulder had previously sealed the hole. How long ago had the seal been broken? Impossible to tell.

Still, he was curious. Probably more-so than he should have been. But if he went in, he would need to ensure that he was able to get back out again.

He reached into his bag and pulled out a flare. Using his claws, he clumsily struck the flare, which began to burn a harsh red. He threw it into the hole, watching as it rolled along the slope of the hole before coming to a halt. It illuminated the depths of the hole, revealing all.

This hole was not a natural formation. Someone built it, so it must lead somewhere.

A tunnel. But how would he enter it? His preemptive packing came in handy once again, as he withdrew a good length of rope. Ink Blot carefully tied one end to a sturdy tree that touched the ring of brambles, tested the knot's strength, and when he was satisfied he threw the other end down the hole. He descended into the depths.

The tunnel twisted and turned, but Ink Blot was careful to mark his way, etching arrows in the tunnel walls that pointed back the way he'd come.

Eventually, he spotted something. At the end of the tunnel was a soft blue glow. Cautiously, he advanced, peeking around the final corner.

The tunnel opened into a large cavern, filled with luminescent plants. From a crack in the ceiling, white moonlight streamed in. In the rough centre of the cavern was a small pool of water, fed by a tiny stream that seeped from a crack in the wall. The cavern continued elsewhere, the pointed stalactites and stalagmites like the grinning maw of some horrible creature that awaited in the darkness.

"Now this is interesting," Ink Blot said to himself. His words reverberated throughout the cavern. "I wonder if anyone's home?"

The atmosphere of the cave was... strange. Ink Blot approached the pool pensively, sitting down beside it. What should he do now? Go back to town, probably. It likely wouldn't be hard, just consult the compass he'd brought and travel north until reaching the forest's edge. From there he would be able to find his way back to town without issue. And if his compass did not work, there were always the tried and true methods, such as using the position of the sun. Luckily he'd brought a watch with him so he could check the time if he needed to.

But instead of doing the sensible thing and leaving right that moment, Ink Blot decided to ruminate. He peered at the mirror-smooth water, seeing how it seemed to have a glow of its own. He stepped closer, gazing at his own reflection, studying it.

He usually didn't look at himself very much. Not in Equestria, not back home. Maybe it was shame. Back home, he hadn't considered himself particularly good-looking, and during his time overseas in Kirma, he'd picked up a few scars from the many close-calls they'd had with the enemy. Maybe it was fear. It was undeniably his own face, everything logical said so, but it was a different face than what he knew. Maybe he thought he could hide from it if he pretended nothing was wrong.

Ink Blot reached up and touched his face, as if to confirm that it was indeed him. He felt the cold metal of the claw boot on his skin. He looked at the pool's smooth surface. It looked like him, but it wasn't him. Reflections were hollow, showing everything on the surface without any of the true depth of character. At first they were appealing, but the longer you looked the more likely it was that you'd find something about yourself that you didn't like.

He frowned. There was something... odd about the water, how unnaturally still it was. He couldn't see into its depths, and that puzzled him. He reached out, hoof mere inches from its surface. He wanted to touch it, but something told him that it wasn't a good idea.

Curiosity soon got the better of him.

He placed his hoof down, expecting to find the bottom of the pool, but it found nothing. His balance disturbed, he instinctively threw his other hoof forward to try and regain it, but it also found no purchase. He slipped ungracefully into the pool...

Ink Blot stepped back in alarm as a hoof burst from the pool, followed by another. When they found purchase, he was shocked by what emerged. Out of the pool stepped his reflection, coming face to face with himself.

Out of the pool he stepped, coming face to face with himself.

It was like looking in a mirror.

It was like looking in a mirror.