Prologue : What Once Was Old
Author's Note
After an embarrassing amount of time I think I figured the image thing out. I'll keep it linked below just in case, but this should work.
https://imgur.com/a/4nTA8r6
Prologue : What Once Was Old
Duggly stared dumbly at his claws, frowning down at the large chip missing from the second one on his right paw. Duggly was confused. He knew that chips happened when you did your digging, every dog knew that. That was part of being a dog.
You dug your dirt, and you dug your rocks, and little chips would happen, and then bigger chips would happen, and eventually your claw might crack, just a bit, at the tip. Then you’d have to worry the thing between your teeth, and after a while more claw would grow out, and you’d be fine again. But it was supposed to go from little chips to big, not the other way around.
Duggly looked up, studying the rough, crumbly surface before him. Further down the rocky tunnel, the crunkly, crackly, wonderful sound of his packmates digging echoed up to him, making the dim light of the crooked, dirt strewn corridor he’d been excavating seem more friendly. Reaching a large paw out, he slowly wiped at the pebble filled dirt of the wall where he’d stopped, causing it to break away and shower down around his feet. Beneath his paw he saw strange stone.
This caused even more confusion, and Duggly leaned in to sniff at the offending grey substance. Nose wrinkling, causing his short, bulldog like muzzle to wrinkle in turn, he smelled earth, and crumbles of granite, and tiny bits of sandstone, and the rough smell of the little pebbles. And beneath all of that...an off smell. Not wrong, so much as unfamiliar.
He snorted, then sneezed, and then began knocking more of the dirt away. Eventually he was left with a wall of mostly smooth, greyish stone spanningthe entire width and breadth of the passage, which slanted up and away from him slightly. Hesitantly, he reached out, dragging a single claw across its surface with a dull scritching noise. Pulling his paw away, he squinted in the dim light, able to just barely make out a faint mark he'd left behind. He looked at his claw, and saw an alarming number of chips, and what could be the start of a crack. He snorted again, this time thoughtfully, and settled back on his haunches, idly scratching beneath his tattered vest, his mind slowly working over the conundrum, like a youngin’ working over a stick-toy.
All dogs were taught about the Engi. The Engi was inside them, it came from them, especially their claws, and was what let dogs dig rock and dirt like they were nothing. Engi let dogs eat what they ated, and drink what they dranked, and breath the dust and dirt and thin air of the deep tunnels, even when it got so hot they panted.
When the Engi broke, claws cracked and teeth snapped, and dogs couldn’t breath so well in the long tunnels that stretched way underground. And the only time the Engi got broke, was…
Duggly’s eyes widened, followed by a sharp intake of breath. “...Magi…” he murmured, almost fearfully. He stood tall, taking an involuntary step backwards before regaining control of himself.
All dogs were taught about the everfight between Magi and Engi, and while they fought, claws were just claws, and teeth were just teeth. A whimper started in the back of his throat, but he forced it down, consciously straightening his ears and making them stand tall again when he noticed they were scared, too.
He was a big dog afterall, not some frightened pup, listening to the rock groans during sleep time and thinking them monsters.
Big dogs knew that the Engi and Magi could only fight so long as he was touching the Magi. It couldn’t jump from the odd stone into his body, he’d have to eat it for that to happen. Duggly wasn’t the smartest in his pack, but he knew better than to try to eat the Magi Thing, knew better than to let it inside him, to fight and kill his Engi. He wouldn’t become one of the lop-paws, only good for digging squat holes in the soft earth near the surface.
Looking to his left, he spotted a large piece of sedimentary rock embedded in the uneven wall of the tunnel, and reached out almost casually to swipe at it with his claws, reassurance flowing through him like cool water on a hot day when they sliced through the rock with little effort. Feeling better, he took two tentative steps towards the off-stone, gingerly brushing away more of the enclosing dirt. The stone was unnaturally smooth, with strange, straight lines etched into it at regular intervals. As he uncovered more of it, he saw that there were other things. Odd circles that looked like someone had painted really large, rusting nailheads the same grey as the rock, and strange bulgy protuberances that rose at odd angles out of the continuous surface.
Duggly fell back to pondering, rubbing a pad absently against the stone.
Ponies used the Magi when they made stuff, and sometimes they liked to leave the Magi in the stones they worked to make their dens on the surface. Sometimes, he’d been told, they even made statues out of the odd Magi stone, but only statues of their enemies. Which was confusing , why would you ever want something like that? Frowning, he gave his head a quick shake to knock his thoughts back in place.
There shouldn’t be any pony things this far out though. His pack was deep in the badlands, and ponies liked to do their building in their kingdom. Ponies didn’t like the badlands, even if they occasionally traveled through them.
Running a finger along one of the etched lines, following it to where it intersected another one and formed a corner, he stopped, frowning at some markings he spied there. They looked like letters, but the more he frowned at them the more he was sure they weren't pony letters. Like the etched lines and the straight rows of little rusty circles painted grey, the letters were too straight and neat, nothing like the dumb, soft curvy letters used by dumb, soft, round ponies. Duggly had seen some pony books once, and the markings in them had looked nothing like the ones carved into the odd rock.
Stepping back once more, Duggly frowned into the middle distance, mind trying valiantly to put the pieces in front of him together. The stone barrier was not normal rock, it was Magi, and it had marks he hadn’t seen before. They were digging around the base of the jagged, black rock mountains in the badlands, far, far away from the pony kingdom. Ponies in the badlands pulled carts through the area, or carried bags. They didn’t stay any longer then they had to,, certainly they didn't build in the badlands, and they especially didn’t build so far underground.
“...so not pony.” He mumbled to himself. One large paw came up to rub absently at an ear. He supposed it could be bird worked stone, or cow, but if the ponies were rare out here, the other two were almost unheard of. Only bugs and dogs were brave enough to stay in the badlands, and bugs used black yuck for their building.
Duggly scowled at the smooth, grey surface that put him in mind of dark marble, or building thunderheads. “If not pony, not bug, then...what?” He mumbled, scowl deepening. He was pulled from his slow, methodical musing by the patter of another dog, padding up the tunnel towards him.
“Dug Dug Duggy!” the newcomer almost yelled, the excitement of youth carrying his voice up and down the tunnel, its echoing returns distorting the words. “What’cha doin Duggy?”
“Not Duggy. Duggly.” Duggly emphasized, irritation blossoming in his breast. He turned to look at the newcomer, eyes sweeping over the broad shoulders and wagging tail of Rockter. Just past his puphood, this was Rockter’s first real dig, and his enthusiasm could either be enjoyable, or insufferable. Oftentimes it was both.
“Sorry Duggy.” Rockter answered, ears drooping a little. They immediately sprang back upright again a moment later, and he panted, smiling broadly. “What’cha doin?” His brown eyes swept past Duggly and alighted on the dark, slate colored stone that blocked the passage. “Ohh, what’s that?”
“Dunno...” Duggly replied, watching Rockter as he reached out to lay a paw on the strange surface. He waited a moment, letting the younger dog lean in close for a sniff, resting his weight against the stone to almost touch his nose to it. “...is magi, though.” He smiled widely, chuckling in a chuffing, snorty sort of way as Rockter scrambled back from the Magi Thing, ears flat and eyes wide with panic.
“Duggy!” Rockter hissed, taking several large steps backwards, eyes as wide as they could go. “Get away!”
Now Duggly laughed out loud in large, explosive, bark-like bursts, head thrown back and eyes squeezed tightly closed. After several seconds he managed to calm himself, swiping at his eyes with the back of one paw as the echo's of his mirth returned, distorted from their trip down the tunnel. His earlier, similar reaction was already forgotten.
“Easy pup. Magi’s not chasin’ you.” Breathing in deeply and releasing it in a gust, he sobered quickly, face growing serious. Looking at Rockter with a stern expression, he pointed one meaty paw at the dark grey stone. “Don’t eat.” Rockter may have been annoyingly cheerful at times, but he was still new, and as an older dog it was Duggly’s job to teach him to be safe.
Gulping, Rockter nodded solemnly, eyes still wide. “Okay Duggy.” With tentative steps, he reapproached the stone. Glancing at Duggly, who nodded reassuringly in return, he gingerly placed the pads of his paw against the surface, marveling at the silky-smooth texture. He prodded the weird, round depressions, and traced his fingers along the straight line carvings, lingering over the unfamiliar script. He glanced up again. “Pony?”
Shaking his head slowly, Duggly reached out his own paw, idly rubbing the stone. “No, not pony.” He dropped his paw, and looked at his younger compatriot. “Go, get Sandy. Tell her…” He trailed off, jaw working back and forth like he was working meat from a bone. “Jus’ tell her to come.”
Squatting back onto his haunches, he returned to his contemplation of the smooth, dark grey, very off rock, one ear flicking absently as it tracked Rockter’s departure, picking out the diminishing sound of his paws as he jogged back down the tunnel.
Further down the rough corridor, unseen by Duggly, another dog watched quietly from a shadowy alcove. It was a youngin’, and thus, smaller than its fellows. It moved awkwardly at times as it did its digging, almost as if unsure of how to operate its own scrawny body. Most of the pack tended to avoid it, thinking it had a 'wrong smell’ and was somehow ‘broken’.
None were around now though, and so none could witness the calculating expression on it’s short-furred face, nor the subtle flash of green that briefly illuminated it’s otherwise dull looking eyes. It watched Duggly for a moment longer, gangly arms swaying forgotten at its sides, and then turned to slink quietly back up the tunnel with an awkward, almost pained gait, ducking into a side passage where it disappeared into the dark gloom.
