The Olive Branch and the Dragon's Clawby SomeRandomMinionChaptersPrologueOut Of OptionsSetting OutPrologueShe’d been defeated. There was no euphemism, no comforting self-assurance to make the sting less sharp. There should have been some consolation--she was still alive, after all--but that small mercy did little to ease the humiliation, near-psychotic fury, terror, and mind-numbing depression Queen Chrysalis of the Changelings felt over her disastrous defeat at Canterlot only three weeks previously. Sitting on a makeshift throne in what had once been a thriving hive but was now almost deserted, her mind spun in circles, as it had ever since she returned home. How could she have been so foolish? Her kind fed on emotions like any other food--more than that, even: emotions were fuel for their magic--so how had she not seen the danger posed by the love of that ridiculous princess for her groom? Even in her seeming triumph, Chrysalis had known full well her defeat of Celestia had been pure luck; only harvesting Shining Armor’s seemingly bottomless love had given her just enough of an edge to catch the alicorn off guard--and that had only come through at the last instant before Celestia would have otherwise killed her...or worse, thinking of what had happened to Discord and Nightmare Moon. It was only through sheer luck that Chrysalis was alive now, even, having landed within her hive’s territory close enough to limp home and be tended by the few who had stayed. She doubted many of her subjects would come back as quickly, being scattered to the winds in a very literal sense. Those that survived the fall, that is, she thought. A smattering had returned, but the Hive remained distressingly empty. Of a hoard that had once numbered in the thousands, Chrysalis now presided over a motley gaggle of barely a hundred able-bodied Changelings. “Not even enough to fill the main chamber.” Had anyone else been within earshot, they would have heard more a growl than coherent speech. Her jagged horn glowed a sickly green and her eyes flashed, magic and anger coursing through her. “Not enough to hunt, not enough to defend the Hive, not even enough to flee and seek out another Hive!!” Chrysalis was standing now, fangs bared and her injured wings spasming. “Damn it all, THERE AREN’T ENOUGH OF US TO SURVIVE!!!” The last came as a screeching yell, boiling with hatred and despair. The whole display would have cowed even the most hardy and arrogant of her warriors, but now... Now... The rush the outburst had given her was suddenly gone, and Chrysalis slumped to her ersatz chair, the impact knocking off a few stones. Her green eyes, once glowing with fury-born magic, seemed to blur as she stared at the floor. “Not enough...” this time, her words were barely a whisper. “M-m’queen...? I-I must speak with you...it is urgent.” Chrysalis’ head snapped up at the new voice, her previous rage somewhat forgotten. Quivering before her throne was a somewhat plump female with a grey hide bereft of spines or spikes, and a wiry white mane that ran down almost her entire length, draping over her body like a thin blanket, with breaks in the coverage formed by her translucent, wasplike wings. One of her brood-tenders, in charge of raising the Hive’s young. Irreverently, Chrysalis observed that her insectoid eyes--a creamy yellow--gave the tender a somewhat comical appearance, despite her obvious fear. Chrysalis gathered herself and rose to her feet, fighting the urge to wince as strained, still-injured muscles were put to work. “What is it?” She growled. Bowing low, the brood tender answered, “M’queen, I bring...unfortunate news regarding the younglings. Myself and the other tenders have been making our best efforts--our absolute best, I assure you! But--” “Speak plainly,” Chrysalis snapped. “You said this was urgent, so get to the point and stop padding the news with this self-patronizing.” It's not like anything you say can make this any more hopeless. “M-M’queen...” The tender was almost prostrate, and Chrysalis swore she heard her subject hyperventilating. “As things stand...we do not have enough food--meat or stored emotions--to feed all the young.” There was a long, horrible pause. “At least...not them and us...” Silence. Neither Changeling spoke, or barely moved. Into the horrific void, Chrysalis gave an order. “Take me to the hatchery. At once.” “Yes, m’queen; at once.” Visibly relieved, the other female rose to her feet and shakily trotted off, Chrysalis in tow. They strode out of her throne room into a cavernous, winding tunnel. It wasn’t unbearably dark, but only just. The few torches left were crowned with sputtering, weak flames, and the magic-laced gemstones were now largely missing, no longer adding their steady, multicolored glow. Chrysalis felt a sudden stab of curiosity. “Tender...what is your name?” Her subject suddenly stopped, wide-eyed. Some distant part of Chrysalis’ mind still thought the yellow eyes looked funny, moreso now that their owner wasn’t terrified. “My name, m’queen? ...I was, er, am, called Kara by the other tenders.” Over her surprise, she--Kara--resumed walking. “Why do you wish to know?” Chrysalis offered no answer as she followed Kara through the dark, empty tunnels. Tunnels that had, just three weeks previously, been swarming with Changelings. Walking with Kara, she realized, was helping her think. Think of a way to save what little of her subjects she had left--a way to survive. If we can’t survive on our own, what can we do? No-one would help us willingly; that’s not an option. We could manipulate some target to raise us up indirectly, but that takes time...something I don’t think we have. They entered a sinkhole the Hive’s main caves snaked through. Months of toil by drones and Diamond Dog “volunteers” had turned the pit into an amphitheater, the stone floor carved into descending terraces of bench seats towards a circular stage whose lighting was--or had been--supplied by a network of reflective gemstones which focused the light of the sun or moon onto the stage. Chrysalis winced upon seeing the room; she had addressed her drones on the invasion of Canterlot there--her last great speech before assembled subjects. Now the room was fading, moss caked over the stone where rain had fallen and the masonry was showing erosion. The gemstones, like those in the tunnel, were largely missing. A few destitute drones were using it as a sleeping area--black splotches in the grey. Chrysalis managed to block out the rest of the trek. It was just more of the same--dank tunnels, deserted junctions and hubs, scattered pockets of her last snatches of subjects. Though, she noticed Kara was leading her deeper underground, and...it was getting hotter. Kara stopped at a final bend in the cave. “Through here, m’queen,” she announced. Chrysalis followed her around the bend, into the hatchery's near-sweltering air. Out Of OptionsThe hatchery still managed to maintain a semblance of dignity despite the Hive's dire straits. Waves of heat and red light shone down from a large crystal in the ceiling--what was fueling it?--providing just enough clarity to see. The honeycombed holes lining the chamber's walls showed few signs of serious wear, and even some of the the empty ones--far too many--were mostly free of moss or erosion. A few brood-tenders skittered around the walls on chitinous legs, inspecting eggs or tending to the young, many of whom were crying. The crying didn't darken Chrysalis' mood, not immediately. Hearing the little creatures' wails had been normal for her, encouraging: it was the sound of the next brood; a new batch of soldiers and workers coming into the world to do her bidding. Now, it was just another reminder of her defeat; a sign of the Hive's decay despite the hatchery’s facade of repair. The cries were the worst: they were different now, more younglings crying for food or attention than squeals of fresh hatchlings just after escaping their eggs. There was desperation among the little ones, too; Chrysalis could hear it in their little buzzing voices, and taste vague snatches of the emotion on the air. It reminded her of gristly meat. (In a flash of insight, she realized that their desperation and hunger may have been helping to power the crystal above. The irony struck her as cruel.) There were fewer of the young as well, going by the empty holes in the chamber walls. Barely a swarm of drones, a pathetically small brood in hatching, and yet our numbers still outpace our food. Chrysalis was only vaguely aware of Kara calling out orders to the other tenders as the two trotted to the center of the room. Of course, food wouldn't be an issue if we hadn't given it as tribute to traitorous thugs. News of her defeat had spread at a disgusting rate. The first days back had been an endless procession of the Hive's so-called "allies" strong-hoofing her into "protection deals"--even those mongrel Diamond Dogs had returned, brandishing picks and axes, and taken away the jewels and crystals! But there had been no choice. From the turncoat griffons, who kept their nosy countrymen from poking around her territory, to the scattered enclaves of dragons she had supported, all had come to the injured, weakened Queen demanding some offering--be it food, the Hive's gems, or sometimes even younglings--in exchange for continuing to keep the Hive's location secret. Then and now, Chrysalis just didn't have a choice. They were bleeding her dry...but that was better than having an army of Celestia's Royal Guards or squads of griffon warriors on her doorstep. As long as she had something to bribe her "protectors," with at least. Chrysalis bared her fangs, fresh rage boiling up. If she could just get one more chance against those damnable ponies, a shot at avenging her swarm... “M’queen, now that you are here I--we, wish to...share a proposal with you,” Kara intoned, snapping Chrysalis out of her reverie. The yellow-eyed tender now stood in the center of the room, flanked by two drones and--Chrysalis blinked--a Praetor, who stood just behind Kara, half again bigger than the drones, watching the proceedings with cold, iron-gray eyes. Praetors were a special caste of males within the Hive, the commanders of drone-swarms and hunting parties. Swarms were--had been--far too large to command by oneself, and individual drones didn’t have much in the way of snap teamwork beyond ganging up on foes. Praetors solved that, each commanding their own units of drones, on the orders of their queen. Why was one here? Drones and especially Praetors almost never went to the hatchery, let alone associate with tenders beyond mating. Whatever this “proposal” was, someone had felt the need to break tradition--break the Changelings’ nature--drastically. Or it was just a coup attempt by a vengeful soldier against a shamed ruler; there was always that. All this went through Chrysalis’ mind in an instant. Aloud, she just answered, “Whose idea was it, and what exactly is your proposal?” The very idea of some tender or Praetor speaking so to their Queen! Any other time, they’d put it to the other Praetors instead of foisting on me. Kara and the Praetor exchanged looks, and Chrysalis felt a spark of fear and concern come off of them. Not that there are many Praetors able to confer with, at any rate. Unsurprisingly, it was the latter who spoke up. The big commander snapped to attention and announced, “Praetor Sark reporting, Majesty. This is primarily my doing, though I must admit that the female--forgive me, Kara--did help me form the idea. My...well, our proposal is...” Sark only paused for a second, face held steady, but there was short, sharp gush of pure fear from him. It had the acrid taste of a fear of death. “We propose to leave the Hive as envoys--just myself, Kara, and a few drones as protection--and seek out the Sun Goddess to sue for peace. It is a gambit, but if we succeed--” Kara cut him off, skittering closer to Chrysalis. The tender’s eyes were wild, almost bulging; fear, desperation and sadness poured from her like a flood from a broken levee. The rush of energy from the the tender, and the audacity of the act, left Chrysalis transfixed. “M’queen, please consider! We cannot placate the extortionist traitors forever, but if we convince Celestia to show some measure of mercy--she can have compassion for our kind, I know it!--we may have another chance!” Even the drones had gone wide-eyed now, but Kara continued: “as Sark said, this is a gamble; we go on a chance. But, we believe, me especially, that it can be done. For all her zeal and fury for protecting her subjects, Celestia is cursed with a soft heart; after all she merely sealed her mad sister away, rather than end the danger the other mare posed.” For a while, the group was quiet. For the first horrible moments, Kara and Sark feared hideous deaths from their Queen’s inevitable rage--but then they truly saw her face, blank and cloudy with introspection; not a trace of anger. The energy radiating from her was...chaotic, almost no coherent emotions. That wasn’t much, but it meant they wouldn’t die for announcing their plan--not immediately anyway. Suddenly the Queen’s faraway gaze sharpened, looking around the chamber--the wailing young, the stone walls, and empty chambers--before settling (no, targeting or impacting was more like it) on Kara and Sark. Her expression was still unreadable, but the green eyes narrowed to slits. The emotions were as jumbled as before, but tightly controlled. When Chrysalis spoke, her voice might have come from a machine. “Very well. If you think Celestia holds better prospects than our current associates”--even Kara scowled at the mention of the traitors--”then you may go. Praetor Sark, you may select a small cohort of drones as an escort. Tender Kara, you will make it absolutely clear that you will be the only tender to leave the Hive; none are to follow you or offer assistance on your journey. Am I clear? Do you two understand your orders?” “Yes Majesty,” they chorused. Chrysalis gave a firm nod. “Good. You will make preparations immediately, and head south for Canterlot once prepared, at sunrise. When...or if, Celestia receives you, propose whatever terms the two of you have conceived--don’t bother asking for my approval; we cannot afford to sully this gambit with internal arguments.” Internally, she added, It’s not as if Celestia would accept anything besides the Hive being reduced to vassalhood, at any rate. Assuming she’ll spare us at all, that is. Not bothering to dismiss the two, she turned and began trotting out of the sweltering chamber, the crystal’s red glow dancing across her green eyes. Just before reaching the exit, without turning around: “Tender Kara. You said Celestia was soft-hearted, correct? Because she would not slay one of her kin, despite the danger she posed?” “Yes, m’queen; what of it?” Briefly, Chrysalis reflected on how none in the Hive would have spoken to her so directly before now--another reminder of her fall. Aloud: “Consider this: Luna was not banished to the moon, she was sealed within it-- alive, but in stasis and immobile. For a thousand years. That was her sister, as you know; leaving her alive was a mercy.” Chrysalis hadn’t turned around, but the sudden stab of fear from Kara was undeniable...but tempered by a stubborn, desperate kind of hope. “Then, there’s Discord. A similar fate, turned to stone...but he wasn’t in stasis. She meant to have him frozen and powerless--and completely aware of it. Forever.” Again fear warred with hope, neither getting an edge. The tender’s inner conflict was...delicious. But that wasn’t why Chrysalis had spoken again. This time, the pitch-black mare did turn, fixing her green reptilian eyes squarely on Kara. They might have been the only two beings in the Hive. “Celestia is a being of love and compassion; you are correct there. But she is first and foremost a ruler, some would say a deity. So, she will do anything to protect her subjects and her kingdom--and that includes throwing aside the mercy and compassion that defines her. Her heart is soft--for her friends, allies and subjects. For her enemies...that is a different matter. Remember that, before you think of her as a savior. We are out of options, and you are right in creating another chance. For all our sakes, I hope you created the right one.” With that, Chrysalis strode out of the chamber’s heat and blood-red glow. The younglings' cries followed her through the tunnels, desperate and terrible. Setting OutAuthor’s note: This map (http://hlissner.deviantart.com/art/Equestria-and-beyond-rev-8-1-253465186), specifically the segment with Equestria and the Griffon Kingdoms, is the rough geography I’m using for the fic. Refer to it for a basic idea of the larger setting. Whoo-hooo! New Chapter! Admittedly, not much happens here, but things will pick up, quick! Next chapter will spotlight how things are going in Equestria, and (hopefully) introduce our antagonist(s). Enjoy! Kara experimentally flexed her wasplike wings, the gossamer catching the pink-orange glow of the rising sun, and giving off a low bzzzt as they sliced through the air. Idly, she gazed southward out the cave’s mouth, at the mountains and caves that dominated the Gryphon Kingdoms--and towards Equestria. It had only taken a week for her and Sark to prepare for their journey, but it had seemed an eternity. Leaving the Hive behind was bad enough--tenders only left when the colony went to find a new home, or to help scout for sources of emotion. To leave for hostile lands (Sark had refused to call Equestria anything but that) and break tradition so...it was terrifying simply for how unprecedented it was. And if the plan failed; if Celestia wouldn’t receive them, or even spare their lives...but, it had to be done. There was no other choice. A dark chuckle came from the shadows. “Standing in the light may help with your musing, Tender Kara, but it also helps some enterprising scout or spy see you before you can disguise.” Kara flinched, but didn’t turn. She knew it was Sark; Chrysalis had ordered that they not be bothered before setting out. Kara smirked, showing a fang. “Better to know the skies one will be flying in then blindly take off into the blue, Praetor,” she answered, sliding into a shadow as the big male sauntered next to her, his black crystal armor showing recent polish. A Tender speaking like that to a Praetor was unheard of even in this time of shattered traditions, but for them things were...different. Sark had always been an exacting perfectionist, and his meticulous standards had extended to bringing about the new broods. He seemed to think that his matings with Kara had produced the best and most younglings, so he had declared Kara an exemplary mate. Most of his “duties” during Hatching Seasons had been with her. Despite the hopes of naive gossipers, that hadn’t been out of any sort of affection; fraternization between the castes was taboo. Still, they had a sort of understanding that allowed for Kara to speak to him so directly. Sark snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s time to head out. I take it you’re ready?” It wasn’t a question so much as a challenge. Understanding between them or not, Sark was still first and foremost of the warrior caste, down to the brusque manner. As if on cue, four drones emerged behind him, looking haggard but strong. “Cohort reportin’ fer duty, Boss,” one of the drones reported, sketching a salute. “Give the order, an’ we’ll get movin’.” Kara fought down a laugh at the drone’s behavior. He sounded like he came right off the streets of Manehatten, and his manner seemed to hold little regard for deference to his commander. Unusually for a drone, he wore...something like a helmet. It looked rugged enough--the metalwork of the dark grey steel was top quality--but the thing was just...wrong. It wasn’t fit for a Changeling’s head at all; the shape was too rounded. A hole had been crudely punched through the forehead for the drone’s horn, and the straps holding the whole assembly on his head looked scrounged together from random bits of fabric and leather. Wait...it’s not even really a helmet! That’s a coalscuttle! This time, Kara couldn't hold back her laugh at the aloof drone’s improvised armor. Sark shot her and the helmeted drone a glare, but quickly returned to his normal stoic demeanor. “As always your timing is flawless, Scrap. Even in times like this--” he waved a gauntleted hoof, somehow encompassing all the world--“I can count on you to be ready and reliable...” He gave a comically stoic sigh, “...and to show a lack of deference for protocol that borders on insubordination. I see you’ve conjured up yet another piece of unauthorized armor...I’m not even going to ask where you got that scuttle.” With a dignified snort, he addressed the group. “Enough. We set out immediately. Scrap, you will fly on Tender Kara’s wing. The rest of you are with me, standard formation. Disguise yourselves once we’re out of our territory; we’ll be in hostile lands, and this will be a long flight--a few days, at most.” He looked Scrap over again, steel-grey eyes narrowed in a cold, tight glare. “And this is...a ‘diplomatic’ outing. If any of you attack the Equestrains without provocation, or otherwise distress myself and Tender Kara’s attempts to sue for peace, there will be consequences. Am I clear?” “Yes, Praetor!” The drones chorused. Even Scrap had gained some formality. “In that case, set out!” They all took to the air and darted out of the cave, Sark and the three drones leading the way in a tight V-shape. They flew in near perfect sync; any changes in course by Sark were quickly mimicked by his comrades. Kara and Scrap followed behind them, in a much looser formation. “You’re wonderin’ how I got my helmet, aren’t ya?” Scrap asked suddenly, startling Kara. As he spoke, he flew a series of slow, lazy corkscrews around her, still managing to stay on course with Sark’s formation. The sun reflected hazily off his ersatz helmet at the top of his loops. “And it’d be a safe bet to say that you’re puzzlin’ over why Sark hasn’t clipped my wings and thrown me offa the biggest mountain he can find, right?” He reached the top of another loop, then suddenly broke hard to the right and went into a sudden dive--almost straight into Kara. Kara let out a strangled curse--this drone is insane!--and made to dodge...but then, Scrap suddenly jinked right, and with a quick flip-twist motion, he leveled out beside her. He showed no sign of exertion whatever, and his face betrayed no anxiety, as if he pulled maneuvers like that all the time. “So, are you curious, n’ all? About the helmet and such?” Kara gave the the helmeted drone a long, wide-eyed look. Was this the aloof, borderline-insubordinate drone from just this morning? “...Yes,” she answered. That was incredible flying! Where did he learn to do that? Ahead, they heard Sark shouting over the wind. Some of the words were whipped away, but Kara managed to catch “stop showboating” and “egg-addled nitwit”. Sark snickered and rolled in the air, still managing to keep pace with the others. “As you can probably see, I’ve got a knack for flyin’ in ‘un-con-vent-ional’ ways--and he likes that much about me, at least; knows I could be a real devil in a fight--and I have, lemme tell you! Can’t fight what you don’t expect, after all,” he finished, giving her a lopsided grin. “As for the helmet: no big story there, just snatched it offa some griffon a while back--swiped it right outta his tent when he was sleepin!” The sun was higher in the sky now, and pinks and oranges in the sky were giving way to blue. The mountains and canyons below were slowly coming alive as creatures rose from their slumber. “Tent? Was the griffon alone...out here?” Kara waved a hoof at the scene below--beautiful as they were, these lands were mostly empty: ignored by the always-squabbling Griffon Kingdoms for richer lands--and kept that way by the Hive’s so-called “allies”, until the Queen’s defeat. Scrap snorted. “Yeah, he was alone. One a’ those caravans that ‘did business’ with the Hive ‘til we weren’t useful to ‘em anymore.” His face twisted into a scowl...then a smirk. “So, I figured swiping this”--he tapped a hoof against the helmet--”was fair play.” His head suddenly snapped up, blue compound eyes locking onto Sark’s flight. “Boss is about to fly low; looks like we’re in griffon country for real now.” They dove after the Praetor’s flight (Scrap ignored Sark’s complaints about “showboating”, foregoing just angling downwards for rolling over and diving after them, shifting to the form of a white bird mid-maneuver. His helmet assumed the likeness of a bushel of grey feathers.) Kara followed him down, likewise changing her form. By the time the flight had leveled off, now coasting through a rocky valley, there was no sign of Changelings. Only seven nondescript white birds soaring through the rocks and trees and mountains. Not that they went unnoticed. A stocky, grimy-looking griffon perched high in a tree, talons digging into the branch. His yellow eyes glinted as he watched seven Changelings shift to the forms of birds and dive out of sight. “Bad time for a pleasure flight, bugs,” he chuckled. What were those little freaks thinking, flying around like this? Their overgrown ant colony was in shambles, so their so-called Queen (what was the wench’s name, Chryssy or something?) would need all the help she could scrounge together--”Wait a minute. The bugs are heading straight south; right towards pony country.” News of the Changeling attack on the pony capital was still coming in. The little freaks wouldn’t dare send another force there, not after the curb-stomping they’d been given. The gaggle he had seen was too small for that, anyway. “If they aren’t attacking, then what....” Slowly, realization dawned. The griffon didn’t laugh, so much as give a series of harsh, ugly squawks. Yellow eyes flashing with malice, he lept from the branch and spread his muddy brown-grey wings, taking to the sky. If the bugs were desperate enough to go crawling to the ponies for help, then they were truly finished--and not a good “ally” any more. His laughter boiled up again as he flew off. “You bugs have been really generous to us, but it looks like our little ‘partnership’ is up.” The monologue came on a whim, interspersed with the girffon’s laughter. “Nothing personal, but we can’t let word get out that we worked with ya. And you're just not useful any more, either--can't have that!” He instinctively flexed his talons. “So, you have to disappear, permanently. Nothing personal, just good business!” His cackles continued as he soared away. Where to go first...Ah, there’s always Fireholm. Yeah, best excuse the Diamond Dogs have for a city. Better hit the tavern first; I LOVE those Changeling eggs!
PrologueShe’d been defeated. There was no euphemism, no comforting self-assurance to make the sting less sharp. There should have been some consolation--she was still alive, after all--but that small mercy did little to ease the humiliation, near-psychotic fury, terror, and mind-numbing depression Queen Chrysalis of the Changelings felt over her disastrous defeat at Canterlot only three weeks previously. Sitting on a makeshift throne in what had once been a thriving hive but was now almost deserted, her mind spun in circles, as it had ever since she returned home. How could she have been so foolish? Her kind fed on emotions like any other food--more than that, even: emotions were fuel for their magic--so how had she not seen the danger posed by the love of that ridiculous princess for her groom? Even in her seeming triumph, Chrysalis had known full well her defeat of Celestia had been pure luck; only harvesting Shining Armor’s seemingly bottomless love had given her just enough of an edge to catch the alicorn off guard--and that had only come through at the last instant before Celestia would have otherwise killed her...or worse, thinking of what had happened to Discord and Nightmare Moon. It was only through sheer luck that Chrysalis was alive now, even, having landed within her hive’s territory close enough to limp home and be tended by the few who had stayed. She doubted many of her subjects would come back as quickly, being scattered to the winds in a very literal sense. Those that survived the fall, that is, she thought. A smattering had returned, but the Hive remained distressingly empty. Of a hoard that had once numbered in the thousands, Chrysalis now presided over a motley gaggle of barely a hundred able-bodied Changelings. “Not even enough to fill the main chamber.” Had anyone else been within earshot, they would have heard more a growl than coherent speech. Her jagged horn glowed a sickly green and her eyes flashed, magic and anger coursing through her. “Not enough to hunt, not enough to defend the Hive, not even enough to flee and seek out another Hive!!” Chrysalis was standing now, fangs bared and her injured wings spasming. “Damn it all, THERE AREN’T ENOUGH OF US TO SURVIVE!!!” The last came as a screeching yell, boiling with hatred and despair. The whole display would have cowed even the most hardy and arrogant of her warriors, but now... Now... The rush the outburst had given her was suddenly gone, and Chrysalis slumped to her ersatz chair, the impact knocking off a few stones. Her green eyes, once glowing with fury-born magic, seemed to blur as she stared at the floor. “Not enough...” this time, her words were barely a whisper. “M-m’queen...? I-I must speak with you...it is urgent.” Chrysalis’ head snapped up at the new voice, her previous rage somewhat forgotten. Quivering before her throne was a somewhat plump female with a grey hide bereft of spines or spikes, and a wiry white mane that ran down almost her entire length, draping over her body like a thin blanket, with breaks in the coverage formed by her translucent, wasplike wings. One of her brood-tenders, in charge of raising the Hive’s young. Irreverently, Chrysalis observed that her insectoid eyes--a creamy yellow--gave the tender a somewhat comical appearance, despite her obvious fear. Chrysalis gathered herself and rose to her feet, fighting the urge to wince as strained, still-injured muscles were put to work. “What is it?” She growled. Bowing low, the brood tender answered, “M’queen, I bring...unfortunate news regarding the younglings. Myself and the other tenders have been making our best efforts--our absolute best, I assure you! But--” “Speak plainly,” Chrysalis snapped. “You said this was urgent, so get to the point and stop padding the news with this self-patronizing.” It's not like anything you say can make this any more hopeless. “M-M’queen...” The tender was almost prostrate, and Chrysalis swore she heard her subject hyperventilating. “As things stand...we do not have enough food--meat or stored emotions--to feed all the young.” There was a long, horrible pause. “At least...not them and us...” Silence. Neither Changeling spoke, or barely moved. Into the horrific void, Chrysalis gave an order. “Take me to the hatchery. At once.” “Yes, m’queen; at once.” Visibly relieved, the other female rose to her feet and shakily trotted off, Chrysalis in tow. They strode out of her throne room into a cavernous, winding tunnel. It wasn’t unbearably dark, but only just. The few torches left were crowned with sputtering, weak flames, and the magic-laced gemstones were now largely missing, no longer adding their steady, multicolored glow. Chrysalis felt a sudden stab of curiosity. “Tender...what is your name?” Her subject suddenly stopped, wide-eyed. Some distant part of Chrysalis’ mind still thought the yellow eyes looked funny, moreso now that their owner wasn’t terrified. “My name, m’queen? ...I was, er, am, called Kara by the other tenders.” Over her surprise, she--Kara--resumed walking. “Why do you wish to know?” Chrysalis offered no answer as she followed Kara through the dark, empty tunnels. Tunnels that had, just three weeks previously, been swarming with Changelings. Walking with Kara, she realized, was helping her think. Think of a way to save what little of her subjects she had left--a way to survive. If we can’t survive on our own, what can we do? No-one would help us willingly; that’s not an option. We could manipulate some target to raise us up indirectly, but that takes time...something I don’t think we have. They entered a sinkhole the Hive’s main caves snaked through. Months of toil by drones and Diamond Dog “volunteers” had turned the pit into an amphitheater, the stone floor carved into descending terraces of bench seats towards a circular stage whose lighting was--or had been--supplied by a network of reflective gemstones which focused the light of the sun or moon onto the stage. Chrysalis winced upon seeing the room; she had addressed her drones on the invasion of Canterlot there--her last great speech before assembled subjects. Now the room was fading, moss caked over the stone where rain had fallen and the masonry was showing erosion. The gemstones, like those in the tunnel, were largely missing. A few destitute drones were using it as a sleeping area--black splotches in the grey. Chrysalis managed to block out the rest of the trek. It was just more of the same--dank tunnels, deserted junctions and hubs, scattered pockets of her last snatches of subjects. Though, she noticed Kara was leading her deeper underground, and...it was getting hotter. Kara stopped at a final bend in the cave. “Through here, m’queen,” she announced. Chrysalis followed her around the bend, into the hatchery's near-sweltering air.
Out Of OptionsThe hatchery still managed to maintain a semblance of dignity despite the Hive's dire straits. Waves of heat and red light shone down from a large crystal in the ceiling--what was fueling it?--providing just enough clarity to see. The honeycombed holes lining the chamber's walls showed few signs of serious wear, and even some of the the empty ones--far too many--were mostly free of moss or erosion. A few brood-tenders skittered around the walls on chitinous legs, inspecting eggs or tending to the young, many of whom were crying. The crying didn't darken Chrysalis' mood, not immediately. Hearing the little creatures' wails had been normal for her, encouraging: it was the sound of the next brood; a new batch of soldiers and workers coming into the world to do her bidding. Now, it was just another reminder of her defeat; a sign of the Hive's decay despite the hatchery’s facade of repair. The cries were the worst: they were different now, more younglings crying for food or attention than squeals of fresh hatchlings just after escaping their eggs. There was desperation among the little ones, too; Chrysalis could hear it in their little buzzing voices, and taste vague snatches of the emotion on the air. It reminded her of gristly meat. (In a flash of insight, she realized that their desperation and hunger may have been helping to power the crystal above. The irony struck her as cruel.) There were fewer of the young as well, going by the empty holes in the chamber walls. Barely a swarm of drones, a pathetically small brood in hatching, and yet our numbers still outpace our food. Chrysalis was only vaguely aware of Kara calling out orders to the other tenders as the two trotted to the center of the room. Of course, food wouldn't be an issue if we hadn't given it as tribute to traitorous thugs. News of her defeat had spread at a disgusting rate. The first days back had been an endless procession of the Hive's so-called "allies" strong-hoofing her into "protection deals"--even those mongrel Diamond Dogs had returned, brandishing picks and axes, and taken away the jewels and crystals! But there had been no choice. From the turncoat griffons, who kept their nosy countrymen from poking around her territory, to the scattered enclaves of dragons she had supported, all had come to the injured, weakened Queen demanding some offering--be it food, the Hive's gems, or sometimes even younglings--in exchange for continuing to keep the Hive's location secret. Then and now, Chrysalis just didn't have a choice. They were bleeding her dry...but that was better than having an army of Celestia's Royal Guards or squads of griffon warriors on her doorstep. As long as she had something to bribe her "protectors," with at least. Chrysalis bared her fangs, fresh rage boiling up. If she could just get one more chance against those damnable ponies, a shot at avenging her swarm... “M’queen, now that you are here I--we, wish to...share a proposal with you,” Kara intoned, snapping Chrysalis out of her reverie. The yellow-eyed tender now stood in the center of the room, flanked by two drones and--Chrysalis blinked--a Praetor, who stood just behind Kara, half again bigger than the drones, watching the proceedings with cold, iron-gray eyes. Praetors were a special caste of males within the Hive, the commanders of drone-swarms and hunting parties. Swarms were--had been--far too large to command by oneself, and individual drones didn’t have much in the way of snap teamwork beyond ganging up on foes. Praetors solved that, each commanding their own units of drones, on the orders of their queen. Why was one here? Drones and especially Praetors almost never went to the hatchery, let alone associate with tenders beyond mating. Whatever this “proposal” was, someone had felt the need to break tradition--break the Changelings’ nature--drastically. Or it was just a coup attempt by a vengeful soldier against a shamed ruler; there was always that. All this went through Chrysalis’ mind in an instant. Aloud, she just answered, “Whose idea was it, and what exactly is your proposal?” The very idea of some tender or Praetor speaking so to their Queen! Any other time, they’d put it to the other Praetors instead of foisting on me. Kara and the Praetor exchanged looks, and Chrysalis felt a spark of fear and concern come off of them. Not that there are many Praetors able to confer with, at any rate. Unsurprisingly, it was the latter who spoke up. The big commander snapped to attention and announced, “Praetor Sark reporting, Majesty. This is primarily my doing, though I must admit that the female--forgive me, Kara--did help me form the idea. My...well, our proposal is...” Sark only paused for a second, face held steady, but there was short, sharp gush of pure fear from him. It had the acrid taste of a fear of death. “We propose to leave the Hive as envoys--just myself, Kara, and a few drones as protection--and seek out the Sun Goddess to sue for peace. It is a gambit, but if we succeed--” Kara cut him off, skittering closer to Chrysalis. The tender’s eyes were wild, almost bulging; fear, desperation and sadness poured from her like a flood from a broken levee. The rush of energy from the the tender, and the audacity of the act, left Chrysalis transfixed. “M’queen, please consider! We cannot placate the extortionist traitors forever, but if we convince Celestia to show some measure of mercy--she can have compassion for our kind, I know it!--we may have another chance!” Even the drones had gone wide-eyed now, but Kara continued: “as Sark said, this is a gamble; we go on a chance. But, we believe, me especially, that it can be done. For all her zeal and fury for protecting her subjects, Celestia is cursed with a soft heart; after all she merely sealed her mad sister away, rather than end the danger the other mare posed.” For a while, the group was quiet. For the first horrible moments, Kara and Sark feared hideous deaths from their Queen’s inevitable rage--but then they truly saw her face, blank and cloudy with introspection; not a trace of anger. The energy radiating from her was...chaotic, almost no coherent emotions. That wasn’t much, but it meant they wouldn’t die for announcing their plan--not immediately anyway. Suddenly the Queen’s faraway gaze sharpened, looking around the chamber--the wailing young, the stone walls, and empty chambers--before settling (no, targeting or impacting was more like it) on Kara and Sark. Her expression was still unreadable, but the green eyes narrowed to slits. The emotions were as jumbled as before, but tightly controlled. When Chrysalis spoke, her voice might have come from a machine. “Very well. If you think Celestia holds better prospects than our current associates”--even Kara scowled at the mention of the traitors--”then you may go. Praetor Sark, you may select a small cohort of drones as an escort. Tender Kara, you will make it absolutely clear that you will be the only tender to leave the Hive; none are to follow you or offer assistance on your journey. Am I clear? Do you two understand your orders?” “Yes Majesty,” they chorused. Chrysalis gave a firm nod. “Good. You will make preparations immediately, and head south for Canterlot once prepared, at sunrise. When...or if, Celestia receives you, propose whatever terms the two of you have conceived--don’t bother asking for my approval; we cannot afford to sully this gambit with internal arguments.” Internally, she added, It’s not as if Celestia would accept anything besides the Hive being reduced to vassalhood, at any rate. Assuming she’ll spare us at all, that is. Not bothering to dismiss the two, she turned and began trotting out of the sweltering chamber, the crystal’s red glow dancing across her green eyes. Just before reaching the exit, without turning around: “Tender Kara. You said Celestia was soft-hearted, correct? Because she would not slay one of her kin, despite the danger she posed?” “Yes, m’queen; what of it?” Briefly, Chrysalis reflected on how none in the Hive would have spoken to her so directly before now--another reminder of her fall. Aloud: “Consider this: Luna was not banished to the moon, she was sealed within it-- alive, but in stasis and immobile. For a thousand years. That was her sister, as you know; leaving her alive was a mercy.” Chrysalis hadn’t turned around, but the sudden stab of fear from Kara was undeniable...but tempered by a stubborn, desperate kind of hope. “Then, there’s Discord. A similar fate, turned to stone...but he wasn’t in stasis. She meant to have him frozen and powerless--and completely aware of it. Forever.” Again fear warred with hope, neither getting an edge. The tender’s inner conflict was...delicious. But that wasn’t why Chrysalis had spoken again. This time, the pitch-black mare did turn, fixing her green reptilian eyes squarely on Kara. They might have been the only two beings in the Hive. “Celestia is a being of love and compassion; you are correct there. But she is first and foremost a ruler, some would say a deity. So, she will do anything to protect her subjects and her kingdom--and that includes throwing aside the mercy and compassion that defines her. Her heart is soft--for her friends, allies and subjects. For her enemies...that is a different matter. Remember that, before you think of her as a savior. We are out of options, and you are right in creating another chance. For all our sakes, I hope you created the right one.” With that, Chrysalis strode out of the chamber’s heat and blood-red glow. The younglings' cries followed her through the tunnels, desperate and terrible.
Setting OutAuthor’s note: This map (http://hlissner.deviantart.com/art/Equestria-and-beyond-rev-8-1-253465186), specifically the segment with Equestria and the Griffon Kingdoms, is the rough geography I’m using for the fic. Refer to it for a basic idea of the larger setting. Whoo-hooo! New Chapter! Admittedly, not much happens here, but things will pick up, quick! Next chapter will spotlight how things are going in Equestria, and (hopefully) introduce our antagonist(s). Enjoy! Kara experimentally flexed her wasplike wings, the gossamer catching the pink-orange glow of the rising sun, and giving off a low bzzzt as they sliced through the air. Idly, she gazed southward out the cave’s mouth, at the mountains and caves that dominated the Gryphon Kingdoms--and towards Equestria. It had only taken a week for her and Sark to prepare for their journey, but it had seemed an eternity. Leaving the Hive behind was bad enough--tenders only left when the colony went to find a new home, or to help scout for sources of emotion. To leave for hostile lands (Sark had refused to call Equestria anything but that) and break tradition so...it was terrifying simply for how unprecedented it was. And if the plan failed; if Celestia wouldn’t receive them, or even spare their lives...but, it had to be done. There was no other choice. A dark chuckle came from the shadows. “Standing in the light may help with your musing, Tender Kara, but it also helps some enterprising scout or spy see you before you can disguise.” Kara flinched, but didn’t turn. She knew it was Sark; Chrysalis had ordered that they not be bothered before setting out. Kara smirked, showing a fang. “Better to know the skies one will be flying in then blindly take off into the blue, Praetor,” she answered, sliding into a shadow as the big male sauntered next to her, his black crystal armor showing recent polish. A Tender speaking like that to a Praetor was unheard of even in this time of shattered traditions, but for them things were...different. Sark had always been an exacting perfectionist, and his meticulous standards had extended to bringing about the new broods. He seemed to think that his matings with Kara had produced the best and most younglings, so he had declared Kara an exemplary mate. Most of his “duties” during Hatching Seasons had been with her. Despite the hopes of naive gossipers, that hadn’t been out of any sort of affection; fraternization between the castes was taboo. Still, they had a sort of understanding that allowed for Kara to speak to him so directly. Sark snorted and rolled his eyes. “It’s time to head out. I take it you’re ready?” It wasn’t a question so much as a challenge. Understanding between them or not, Sark was still first and foremost of the warrior caste, down to the brusque manner. As if on cue, four drones emerged behind him, looking haggard but strong. “Cohort reportin’ fer duty, Boss,” one of the drones reported, sketching a salute. “Give the order, an’ we’ll get movin’.” Kara fought down a laugh at the drone’s behavior. He sounded like he came right off the streets of Manehatten, and his manner seemed to hold little regard for deference to his commander. Unusually for a drone, he wore...something like a helmet. It looked rugged enough--the metalwork of the dark grey steel was top quality--but the thing was just...wrong. It wasn’t fit for a Changeling’s head at all; the shape was too rounded. A hole had been crudely punched through the forehead for the drone’s horn, and the straps holding the whole assembly on his head looked scrounged together from random bits of fabric and leather. Wait...it’s not even really a helmet! That’s a coalscuttle! This time, Kara couldn't hold back her laugh at the aloof drone’s improvised armor. Sark shot her and the helmeted drone a glare, but quickly returned to his normal stoic demeanor. “As always your timing is flawless, Scrap. Even in times like this--” he waved a gauntleted hoof, somehow encompassing all the world--“I can count on you to be ready and reliable...” He gave a comically stoic sigh, “...and to show a lack of deference for protocol that borders on insubordination. I see you’ve conjured up yet another piece of unauthorized armor...I’m not even going to ask where you got that scuttle.” With a dignified snort, he addressed the group. “Enough. We set out immediately. Scrap, you will fly on Tender Kara’s wing. The rest of you are with me, standard formation. Disguise yourselves once we’re out of our territory; we’ll be in hostile lands, and this will be a long flight--a few days, at most.” He looked Scrap over again, steel-grey eyes narrowed in a cold, tight glare. “And this is...a ‘diplomatic’ outing. If any of you attack the Equestrains without provocation, or otherwise distress myself and Tender Kara’s attempts to sue for peace, there will be consequences. Am I clear?” “Yes, Praetor!” The drones chorused. Even Scrap had gained some formality. “In that case, set out!” They all took to the air and darted out of the cave, Sark and the three drones leading the way in a tight V-shape. They flew in near perfect sync; any changes in course by Sark were quickly mimicked by his comrades. Kara and Scrap followed behind them, in a much looser formation. “You’re wonderin’ how I got my helmet, aren’t ya?” Scrap asked suddenly, startling Kara. As he spoke, he flew a series of slow, lazy corkscrews around her, still managing to stay on course with Sark’s formation. The sun reflected hazily off his ersatz helmet at the top of his loops. “And it’d be a safe bet to say that you’re puzzlin’ over why Sark hasn’t clipped my wings and thrown me offa the biggest mountain he can find, right?” He reached the top of another loop, then suddenly broke hard to the right and went into a sudden dive--almost straight into Kara. Kara let out a strangled curse--this drone is insane!--and made to dodge...but then, Scrap suddenly jinked right, and with a quick flip-twist motion, he leveled out beside her. He showed no sign of exertion whatever, and his face betrayed no anxiety, as if he pulled maneuvers like that all the time. “So, are you curious, n’ all? About the helmet and such?” Kara gave the the helmeted drone a long, wide-eyed look. Was this the aloof, borderline-insubordinate drone from just this morning? “...Yes,” she answered. That was incredible flying! Where did he learn to do that? Ahead, they heard Sark shouting over the wind. Some of the words were whipped away, but Kara managed to catch “stop showboating” and “egg-addled nitwit”. Sark snickered and rolled in the air, still managing to keep pace with the others. “As you can probably see, I’ve got a knack for flyin’ in ‘un-con-vent-ional’ ways--and he likes that much about me, at least; knows I could be a real devil in a fight--and I have, lemme tell you! Can’t fight what you don’t expect, after all,” he finished, giving her a lopsided grin. “As for the helmet: no big story there, just snatched it offa some griffon a while back--swiped it right outta his tent when he was sleepin!” The sun was higher in the sky now, and pinks and oranges in the sky were giving way to blue. The mountains and canyons below were slowly coming alive as creatures rose from their slumber. “Tent? Was the griffon alone...out here?” Kara waved a hoof at the scene below--beautiful as they were, these lands were mostly empty: ignored by the always-squabbling Griffon Kingdoms for richer lands--and kept that way by the Hive’s so-called “allies”, until the Queen’s defeat. Scrap snorted. “Yeah, he was alone. One a’ those caravans that ‘did business’ with the Hive ‘til we weren’t useful to ‘em anymore.” His face twisted into a scowl...then a smirk. “So, I figured swiping this”--he tapped a hoof against the helmet--”was fair play.” His head suddenly snapped up, blue compound eyes locking onto Sark’s flight. “Boss is about to fly low; looks like we’re in griffon country for real now.” They dove after the Praetor’s flight (Scrap ignored Sark’s complaints about “showboating”, foregoing just angling downwards for rolling over and diving after them, shifting to the form of a white bird mid-maneuver. His helmet assumed the likeness of a bushel of grey feathers.) Kara followed him down, likewise changing her form. By the time the flight had leveled off, now coasting through a rocky valley, there was no sign of Changelings. Only seven nondescript white birds soaring through the rocks and trees and mountains. Not that they went unnoticed. A stocky, grimy-looking griffon perched high in a tree, talons digging into the branch. His yellow eyes glinted as he watched seven Changelings shift to the forms of birds and dive out of sight. “Bad time for a pleasure flight, bugs,” he chuckled. What were those little freaks thinking, flying around like this? Their overgrown ant colony was in shambles, so their so-called Queen (what was the wench’s name, Chryssy or something?) would need all the help she could scrounge together--”Wait a minute. The bugs are heading straight south; right towards pony country.” News of the Changeling attack on the pony capital was still coming in. The little freaks wouldn’t dare send another force there, not after the curb-stomping they’d been given. The gaggle he had seen was too small for that, anyway. “If they aren’t attacking, then what....” Slowly, realization dawned. The griffon didn’t laugh, so much as give a series of harsh, ugly squawks. Yellow eyes flashing with malice, he lept from the branch and spread his muddy brown-grey wings, taking to the sky. If the bugs were desperate enough to go crawling to the ponies for help, then they were truly finished--and not a good “ally” any more. His laughter boiled up again as he flew off. “You bugs have been really generous to us, but it looks like our little ‘partnership’ is up.” The monologue came on a whim, interspersed with the girffon’s laughter. “Nothing personal, but we can’t let word get out that we worked with ya. And you're just not useful any more, either--can't have that!” He instinctively flexed his talons. “So, you have to disappear, permanently. Nothing personal, just good business!” His cackles continued as he soared away. Where to go first...Ah, there’s always Fireholm. Yeah, best excuse the Diamond Dogs have for a city. Better hit the tavern first; I LOVE those Changeling eggs!
