The Lowliest Piece (revised)
The Lowliest Piece
The Lowliest Piece
A shuffling from the other side of the magically reinforced steel door, the howling of the western wind that was common this time of the year, a dripping leak in the corner that was almost comically inconsistent; leaving him alone to ponder cynical thoughts only to interrupt his silent contemplation when he was certain he was close to a revelation.
He had grown accustomed to the noises of this dreary cell, to the shades of its slate-grey walls. What he had not come to accept yet was that these sensations would be some of the last things to be added to his diminutive repertoire of worldly experiences.
He glanced to the only other occupant in the cell, a cerulean weaver; indigenous only to the northern barrier lands it had a body that appeared almost crystalline in its striking edges and opaque blue chromatism.
“They possessed a very special kind of of webbing, it was solid until it came into contact with temperatures higher than the normal ambient for the extreme north; it would then melt and form around the source of heat, immobilizing it so the arachnid could investigate and hopefully feed, of course insects don’t produce much heat and few species live in this climate anyway, this blue little architect prefers small rodents.”
At least that is what the tome that the guards had given him had said.
They were surprisingly accommodating when he asked for such things, especially considering the charges he was indicted with. The only thing particularly uncomfortable was the amount of food he received, a hunk of bread a day. It arrived at relatively midday and was only a few mouthfuls.
He harbored no spite however, he knew very well that he had gotten himself in here, did that mean he wished he had not done what he had? Not in the least, he just wished he had been more prudent with his methods, so as to prevent himself being observed doing as such. It was a surprisingly lackluster memory given how long he had waited for the opportunity and how romanticized it had been in his head.
He let his head lull back to a natural state and observed the markings on the wall from previous occupants. Signatures mostly, they were embossed onto the stone with a myriad of methods, an obvious knife used here, the burn of a unicorns magic there, even what appeared to be blood; bound to the stone and kept looking fresh with some form of magic.
He glanced at the spider once more, gaining a weird sense of comfort as it observed him, deciding he trusted his eight legged companion enough to wake him if a problem arose the haggard pegasus glanced up at the ceiling and drifted to sleep.
.•o0O0o•.
The scrape of the door latch resounded through the cell waking him up. The door swung inward letting brighter lights into the dank stone room.
A voice akin to the puff of a dropped bag of flour pompfed from the slightly ajar door as it it creaked open, “stand up.”
He did as he was ordered and the face accompanying the voice came into view as the door swung inward.
The unicorn standing before him had scars like canyons carved across his face. A dark indigo coat and a short black mane that was comb separated to either side gave him a stately look, while the dagger at his side and the stealy scowl on his face very much suggested the contrary of that sentiment.
"Close your eyes," came the second command.
He closed them and promptly discovered he could not reopen them, then he noticed the quiet mumble of the unicorns incantations.
His hearing went next.
He felt the itchy grasp of rope as it rubbed over his neck. The guard, presumably the guard, fastened it around his throat and led him out into the snow.
He followed as well as he could, bumping against this, scraping his skin against that, occasionally he fell to his knees as something crushed against one of his forelegs. He stumbled back to his feet as the rope unapologetically continued dragging him along.
He stumbled along for a good fifteen minutes, through a few halls and down several flights of stairs before they came to what was apparently their final destination.
He was shoved down and pressed against a cold, smooth floor; his nose numb with the force of the impact. He laid there, a pressure from behind holding him down. It dawned on him, after a while of unmoving waiting; that he could hear again. Little creaks here and there, a shuffle behind him as his restrainer shifted his weight.
“Don't make any quick movements,” It was the same voice as before. The pressure disappeared and he stumbled to his feet, tentatively his eyes fluttered open.
Before him stretched a small hall, about two hundred feet long, fifteen or so feet across and with a high vaulted ceiling. It was made entirely of a smoky quartz crystal, chiseled and polished to a sheen.
The torches that lined the hall every ten paces refracted across the surfaces of the hall, their flames dancing about the space. The prince stood at the end next to an obsidian podium. He had been told about this place, the Judgement Hall.
“Walk,” he was prodded from behind. He stumbled forward a few steps before catching himself, lifting his chest higher and keeping his chin up as he walked forward, determined to carry himself with some semblance of pride.
But as he neared the podium and the prince he became acutely aware of the sound of his own hooves on the polished floor and as his gaze met that of the resolute ruler his demeanor faltered and his steps became shuffles as he closed the last few feet, his gaze dropped.
The words that left the princes mouth conveyed no emotion, “You are quite lucky, we recently had a few openings in the 47th.”
The prince levitated a piece of parchment out of a small drawer on the podium, he then set it on atop the black stand and drew a knife from his belt placing it alongside the parchment.
“As I’m sure you know it is your only other option barring execution and seeing as how I’d rather not waste an able body, I’m offering you one more chance at life, what is your decision?”
The pegasus’s wings shuffled on his back and he mustered enough resolve to look up at the ancient god who had addressed him. “That is a gracious offer my prince, I accept.”
Appearingly disinterested as ever the prince lowered the knife down to the pegasus along with the parchment, “I trust you will not need aid sealing the blood pact?”
The pegasus slowly shook his head and grasped the knife with his mouth. He brought the blades’ edge to the flesh a few centimeters above his hoof and drug it across, the metal bit into his foreleg easily and blood began matting in his fur and dripping down his hoof. His teeth clamped down on the blade as his nerves burned at the self inflicted wound.
He tried to regain his composure as he waited for his hoof to be sufficiently coated in crimson, the pain faded into a numb throb. Blood leaked off his leg onto the ground, confident in the coverage he then pressed his hood against the contract, wincing as the pressure reignited the pain in his foreleg.
Pulling back his leg he saw the crescent shaped imprint on the paper, it glowed for a brief second before it faded back to just blood on parchment.
The prince followed suit, leaving his mark on the contract before placing it inside another drawer in the black stand.
“You will spend the night in your cell,” the prince looked to the unicorn with the indigo coat, who then started walking towards them, “tomorrow you will be escorted to your new barracks.”
This time the dark blue unicorn simply gestured for him to follow rather than blind him and drag him with the rope.
He followed the unicorn through the hallways he had previously felt, they saw few others and those they did see did not say anything nor did they look in their direction.
Catching a glimpse of the outside as they passed a courtyard he saw that it was snowing and that a small group of ponies was heading into the local tavern, accompanied by boisterous laughter and the clinking of metal armor.
Once back in his cell, he checked on the small spider he had been keeping company with, he decided he’d ask for a small jar tomorrow so that he could bring the blue arachnid with him. He stumbled onto the cot on the side of the cell, still nursing his wounded leg. He read over the signatures and small notes one more time, before falling asleep.
