Celestia and the traitor

          The libraries in Canterlot castle are gargantuan. Over the centuries generals have had scribes write of glorious victories and dishonorable defeats. Scholars have restored the masterpieces of Play-writes and musicians and mass-produced them for the populous of Terra. Alchemists and sorcerers have reported their finding on how the elements react and the many sects of magic. And the history of the races and their respective cultures have been put from mouth to paper. One question eludes the minds of ponies and other species. Despite religions or speculation, no one knows the oldest question to date, 'Where did we come from?'

Celestia, a scholar in her own right has pondered the question for millennia to no avail. She has seen Ponykind step forth from their primitive huts, unite as one and built a civilization spread across the land. Yet she knew who or what had made them. Maybe an all powerful, red-headed Alicorn, more powerful than the rest combined to the power of whatever? Or possibly a process done over millions upon millions of years making ponies in their form by the superior genetic traits? It was impossible to tell.

Celestia continued down this thought process, the stomach churning with fright, as she descended deeper into the labyrinth-like structure of Canterlot's dungeon. Most of the cells were empty, long since catered by a dustpan and brush. Only one pathway in the maze was lit, the others blocked off or decayed into non-existence. Then again, it was the only walkway needed to be lit since it was the pony path both used and led anywhere apart from a slow death in a cave or elsewhere.

After a walk which lasted somewhere between two-four minutes, the decor of rats, stone bricks and no natural lighting changed. Crystals laced the walls, floor and celing. If one where to possible collect all the crystals here without the mountain collapsing on itself, that pony would have enough to build Faust-knows how many replicas of the crystal castle. Inside this part of the cavern was a settlement. Unicorn guards, both bat and quote-en-quote 'normal' guards alike where on duty or resting in the primitive looking teepees.

When these guards saw the embodiment of the sun, they saluted, except for the five that walked towards her, three Thestrals', two normals.Celestia calmly said her hello's. The guards simply nodded, acknowledging the princess and started to walk beside her. Celestia inspected the small hamlet. There were twenty tents, four guards each, one large campfire in the centre surrounded by logs for sitting, a make-shift kitchen for preparing food and a large alter-like disc where several ponies where channeling their magic, soon followed by the sound of magical discharge that erupted throughout the large cavern, as large amounts of crates of one-week supplies appeared beside the unicorns. 'Hmm, in time for the supply drop. Lucky me' Celestia thought, soon after ordering some of the bread and water to be taken with her. The guards did not hesitate and followed her words to the letter, getting the plate and cup made of paper -for safety reasons- and one of the guards to follow her with said items.

In an old, quiet cell a being sat. He looked to the walls. still rotting. His prison was large, at least five by seven meters across. There was one 'window,' barely being classed one because the gaps are so small those large flies on a plague ship could not squeeze through it. But it was peaceful. And that made it worse. The prisoner was used to a battlefield, a wasteland bombarded by virus bombs. Heck, even what little remained of Prospero would feel more at home! The old sorceror had flayed thousands and had broken the minds of thrice more in the name of Tzeentch, and for what? Being captive for more time than he had been on the planet of sorcerers with nothing but xenos more obnoxious than those dishonorable Tau. Although it's more of a disgrace that a species like this has a connection to the warp almost as deep as his! He have been in the battlefields for millennia, leading loyal servants of chaos in a purge against millions for millen- Hmm… never mind.

Being in a cell as long as the prisoner has, his superhuman senses have been bolstered by the near-silence he has endured. This meaning the faintest of footsteps could be heard long before other marines could.

And he was correct. little more than a minute later they stopped at the doors he sound of several locks and shifting contraptions far older than the age of strife began to turn. In the final step of the dragged-out of opening up the cage, the very tip of Celestia's horn could be seen, switching 'frequency' from the standard Balthasar gold to ceramite white -and finaly- a deep Abbadon black with a trim of moot green and trickles of xereus purple. Then it opened.

Celestia slowly trotted into the uncomfortably familiar room where the prisoner sat, smirking the same smirk it always did when she entered. Beside her was a scribe, holding what you'd expect a scribe to have. Quills, ink pots and scrolls. He was a stallion, not the bravest of guards assigned to the military, hiding slightly behind the princess, still trying to get a look. Like a small colt or filly.

"Greetings, xenos!" it boomed, standing at least two or three feet. above the sun goddess, making him around an impressive eight foot.

"Samuel." Celestia nodded, taking in the intimidating appearance of the prisinor.

He was a tall being, the only attire he wore after being captured was a long hood and the mysterious amour from the waist down, revealing his chest and arms -the latter of which where restricted by large shackles- His face was old and weathered. Burned, scarred and wrinkled. The most prominent of them being two large indents above his right brow from 'the old days' and the large burn that leaved a large burn across the left side of his face, removing all hair and muscle and the part of the skull in that area covered in a large metal box with a (broken) red light, with a loose wire dangling down by his bulky chin. What little paint from his worn greaves that was not faded away or peeled off by time or what strange weapons he had when found was a (presumably) deep, rich blue with gold trimmings like spikes or some sort of flaming serpent consuming its own tail. (some sort of parallel to psykic power or whatever his explan-

"So then… why are you here?" he said through his metallic face mask, interrupting the princess' train of thought, "I do not have time between thoughts to tolerate hesitation, xenos!"