"There are ten of us," Jimjar said as he sat on my left, "including you. You've already met Eldeth, Topsy, Stool, Sarith, Shuushar, and myself. I think you've also met Buppido."

"Who's Buppido?" I blinked and ran through all the faces I'd met so far.

"Buppido is the shifty yapper skulking in the corner," Eldeth pointed across the room. "He's a derro."

I frowned. The word was familiar as if I had heard it once or twice before, but I couldn't place it.

"Derro… Isn't that a kind of diamond dog?" I looked at Eldeth.

"Once, maybe," she scoffed. "The derro are an offshoot of the mogorva, the dour folk, a breed of dogs that split off from us generations ago to delve deeper into the Underdark. They met something down there that twisted them and drove them mad. Derro are mogorva who were even worse off. Most are entirely insane."

"Oh, is Buppido the small diamond dog I was paired up with yesterday?" I asked. "He didn't seem that bad, though shifty is a good word for him."

"That's him," Jimjar nodded. "He does seem level-headed for a derro. Eccentric, yes, but so far he's been harmless. There's also Ront, the gryphon, and Turvy, Topsy's twin brother."

I nodded back. Ront and I had a brief encounter on the bridge yesterday, and Turvy must have been the other glitter sprite that I saw Topolya–Topsy–looking at earlier today. Though, as I counted the names in my head, I made a realization.

"That was nine, including me. Who was the tenth one?"

Jimjar and Eldeth traded glances, and the diamond dog cleared her throat. "We… Don't actually know his name, since he's using a language no one in here knows, but he's, well, a quaggoth."

The fur on my neck rose, and I snapped my eyes back and forth through the darkness around me. Once a security source, the locked gate suddenly made our cell feel very small. I gulped and took a deep breath.

"Right… Well, I'll deal with him later. In the meantime, can you translate for me? I want to speak with Topolya."

Topolya, who had remained silent through the conversation, perked up at her name. She stepped forward and spoke to Jimjar inquisitively, and he replied with a nod. The roguish glitter sprite turned back to me.

"Topolya," I began while Jimjar translated. "I'm sorry if I got you and Sarith into trouble. I got distracted and messed up. It won't happen again."

She placed a hoof on my shoulder and smiled. Topolya rattled off several words in the denevér tongue, and I turned to Jimjar.

"She said that all is forgiven and that she should have kept a closer eye on you. Fortunately, the denevér guard had intervened soon enough that the quaggoth hadn't gotten around to beating her and Sarith to a pulp after killing you."

I smiled back at her, and some tension left my shoulders. My fetlock still throbbed painfully, but I'm glad the others didn't suffer from my mistake.

"Can you tell me a little about yourself? Where are you from?"

As Jimjar relayed our words, I learned she and her brother were from a village called Blidgenstone to the northwest. They were picking mushrooms in the tunnels near their home when the denevér slavers captured them. Though they were twins, Topolya, or Topsy, as her name translated into Equestrian, generally acted as the big sister to her timid brother Turvy.

"Okay, now I want to speak to Sarith."

Jimjar frowned. "Are you sure? He's not exactly that talkative, and he's a denevér ."

"He's still one of us," I nodded. "We'll need his help to get out of here. I want to know more about his culture; to understand how they think. He might be able to give me some insight into what they're planning, and I also want to know why he's in here with us. I need to know if we can trust him."

"Fine," he sighed. "But don't go whining to me if he bites your head off."

Eldeth helped me to my hooves. I kept my injured one close to my barrel and hobbled forward on three legs. The manacles and chains between my legs made it difficult. My fetlock throbbed, and I swayed to the side as stars filled my vision, but the diamond dog was like a warm slab of granite that kept me steady. We picked up Stool on the way, and I limped to where Sarith brooded on an outcropping of rock.

Our cell was small now that I had a chance to explore it. It was about ninety hooves from the gate to the back and fifty from side to side. All ten of us were scattered throughout the little cave, sitting together alone in the dark, giving us the illusion of privacy.

His ear twitched as we approached. It was too dark to see his face, but the low light glinted off his slitted pupil. I froze, transfixed by the glare he shot me, and it reminded me of all the tribalist folk tales of bat ponies. The image of his teeth ripping into my throat came to me unbidden, and I shoved it away.

He's just a pony, I reminded myself. He might have grown up in a horrible place and did some bad things, but we're still the same.

"Hello, Sarith," I whispered, trying to keep the shudder out of my voice. I wasn't sure if it was from my pain or anticipation.

He tsked and looked at his hooves. Sarith's mane fell over his face, reminding me of a much more muscular and grumpier version of Fluttershy. My mouth twitched, and I cleared my throat.

"Stool, can you come here?"

I wasn't sure if he understood my words, but the little whither-high mushroom wobbled forward between Sarith and me. There was a hiss, and an odd scent tickled my nostrils.

"Hi, Twilight!" Stool's thought-speech echoed in my mind. "Are you okay? I heard what happened."

"Hello, Stool," I said, nuzzling him. "I made a mistake and got hurt, but I'll live. I'm sorry to impose, but I need you to help me talk to some of the other prisoners, starting with Sarith here."

An odd warmth radiated through my thoughts. It smelled like freshly tilled earth or sod after a spring rain.

"I'm happy to help!"

"Hello, Sarith," I directed my thoughts towards the thestral and tried to project friendly and welcoming emotions. He flinched as if struck.

Sarith's thoughts and emotions roiled towards me like boiling swamp water. His mind felt like a jumbled mess, like a cluttered desk in front of an open window or a worn rope holding too much weight. I shivered at the sensation. These rapport spores were very strange. They did not just let somepony share thoughts like you would speaking. You traded emotions and shared a mindscape, even if it was only the surface level. It was far too intimate for my liking, but it was too late to back out.

"What do you want, surfacer?" Sarith hissed.

I stepped back, ears flattened to my skull, but I pressed forward.

"I… wanted to apologize, Sarith, for getting us into trouble today."

"Bah, the quaggoth should have eviscerated you," he sneered. "It would have been a mercy to both of us."

I frowned and struggled to respond. This level of hostility was alien to me. To my knowledge, no one had ever wished for my death except for a few villains like Tirek or Chrysalis. He was a pony, though. A foreign pony, yes, but still a pony. Sighing, I steeled myself to climb a very steep hill.

"Have I ever done anything to you personally, Sarith?" I tilted my head. "This aggression seems… uncalled for. I understand that you might be mad at me. The guard might have hurt you too after it was finished with me. I was reckless, got distracted, and suffered greatly for it. Trust me, it won't happen again."

"Besides your constant prattling? You are a walking abomination, false goddess," he spat at my hooves. "If Mistress Ilvara and the other priestesses did not want you, I would gut you myself. Maybe that would restore my favor to the Mistress of Nightmares."

"Why would the priestesses want me?" I ignored the taunt and dug deeper. "And what do you mean, a 'false goddess'?"

"So many questions from the babbling filly. I'll indulge you this once because the answer is the same. You defile the image of the Mistress," he gestured to my wings and horn, "and make a mockery of her perfection. Lady Myzzrim said so herself yesterday that they will take you to Menzoberanzan. Your fate will likely be the Altar of Nightmares, where they will cut your throat and offer your blood to Her in a silver bowl.

"Maybe the Mistress will decide to purify your body and take it as an avatar," he continued. "Or the matrons will offer you up to a glabrezu, and your offspring will lead us in a new crusade against the Tyrant Sun!"

"Vermin!" Eldeth snarled and clenched her fist.

At some point, Sarith had started speaking out loud while communicating via the spores, but I almost didn't notice. My gut clenched, and bile rose to my throat. Breathes came out heavy as my body shook with tremors. Sarith's words brought forth all manner of vile imagery to my mind. This "Mistress of Nightmares" was obviously Nightmare Moon, who had turned into a mythical goddess in the centuries after her banishment. Things clicked into place for me, and I saw the dominos of their dogma fall into place over generations.

Princess Celestia symbolized absolute evil in their eyes. She scorned, betrayed, and imprisoned their beloved mother and queen and drove them underground. Ever since they had nurtured that hatred in the darkest depths of the Underdark, they still served the mad cruelty of the Nightmare as she slept.

Then I came stumbling into their isolated world, an alicorn that broke the dichotomy of their reality. I was something that should not be – an abomination. So, they would either use me or dispose of me.

I took a deep breath in through my nose and exhaled out my mouth. Then I met Sarith's eyes again.

"And what about you, Sarith? What is your fate?"

"I suppose I will be right behind you, next in line for the slab," he chuckled humorlessly as the fire left him. "They will flay me alive, drain my blood on the altar, and feed my flesh to the spiders."

"What did you do to be thrown in here? From everything I've seen, the denevér reward cruelty and encourage violence. Why did they turn on you?"

"We are cruel only to our lessers, surfacer, and violence is only rewarded if you aren't caught. I have been accused of murdering one of my comrades in a fit of madness, but it's all a setup to discredit me. It was likely one of my underlings vying for my position or a peer trying to curry favor with our commander. Regardless, I, too, am bound to be offered as a sacrifice to the Mistress, to be made an example of."

"Then, perhaps, we can help each other."

Sarith sneered and scoffed. "How could you possibly help me, and why should I help you?"

"It's simple; we can either die together, or we can help each other get out of here. I certainly have no intention of getting sacrificed. I'm working on a plan to enable us all to escape, but I need your help. You know how the denevér tick, how they work, and where they might keep things. We don't have to like each other, but we can use each other for our own ends."

Sarith did not reply for a long moment. His wings shuffled beneath his bonds, and he clicked his tongue in thought. Finally, he flicked his mane back, and the batpony met my eyes.

"We will be severely punished for trying to escape. We will surely die."

"I have no intention of dying, but it's no worse than our current course. We have nowhere to go but up."

I held out my uninjured hoof, using Eldeth's frame to support my weight, and smiled at Sarith. The denevér stallion eyed the appendage for a moment and smirked.

"I won't stand in your way, surfacer," he replied, "but your path is folly. If you manage to break our bonds, open the door, and put a blade in my hoof, then I may consider cutting my way to freedom and not stab you in the back. Until then, I will wait and see."

Author's Note

Well, Twilight wasn't able to fully convince Sarith to join her cause, but maybe she'll have better luck with the others.

For those who don't know or haven't caught on, I'm treating this story as a D&D campaign with Twilight taking the place of the player character. I've adapted D&D 5e rules to fit the medium, and there are lots of rolls that go on in the background.

Not even I know exactly what will happen.