Escape from the Wretched Hive

Its story finished, the one-eyed changeling crooked its head toward you again. “Did you want to hear another story?” It smiled. “I don’t actually know any stories. But the voices do.” It uncrooked its head and stamped at the ground with its deformed hoof. “I can wear them like masks, and they’ll repeat their story through me. It’s really just a single memory. Sometimes it’s a description of a person or place.” It shrugged. “Sometimes it’s a whole adventure. Whatever is useful to me.” It looked away from you, back toward the Hive. “Carnal was always the one trusted to report the troop’s work. Seemed fitting that it’d be his one story.” It looked at you again. “You’re lucky, really. Not many people get to listen to firsthand accounts of the digestion process.” It chuckled as its foreleg twitched. “Soon he will forget all but the most crucial details of that adventure. With the exception, of course, of his demise; finding out you’re dead kinda ruins the idea of immortality.”

The changeling took time to stretch before continuing. Its wing was ripped. Judging by the holes in them, you could assume that Chrysalis’s guards had something to do with it. Its broken eye had a scar in its center; the color had faded to a light gray. It had two fangs, neither had any flaws that you could see. Its broken foreleg, no doubt the work of Chrysalis’s guards, trembled under the creature's weight. The lack of wincing would imply that it was not shaking from pain. A strange green ooze began to leak from the changeling’s nostrils. It caught its eye, and it chuckled a little.

“Just a little nosebleed. It happens sometimes when a story is a bit... dramatic.” It took a step toward you. “You know, I never got your name. Your background. If that’s just a disguise or that’s really your species.” It looked over your limbs and chuckled. It took special consideration of your neck. “Now I wonder...”

The blood from its nose made its way down to its fangs. Then you realized it was leaking from the corners of its snout like drool.

“What story do you tell?”