Carbon Copy

     The day had been going well for Wintercrest. One of the walls he'd been working on had given way to a small, gem filled cavern. Rubies and emeralds adorned the cramped area, along with other varieties of brightly colored precious stones. A quick signal to the beta guarding him had been enough to have his find verified, and soon a good number in the band of slaves was digging eagerly at the wall. More mineral rich pockets were opened, giving rise to a sound not heard in a very long time: laughter.

     Life as a slave doesn't really have its ups and downs; it's more or less hitting rock bottom and staying there. So, for a group of mining slaves, it was a minor miracle to feel the warmth of happiness flow through their faces and smiles to be worn that day. However, a happy slave in the mines is a slave that doesn't work hard.

     Whips came out, shrieks were heard, and the dull pinging of iron against stone resumed the somber tone of collapsed lifestyles. A beat was gradually drummed out by a filly at the opening of the new cavern, pacing the march into the rock. Groans and grunts echoed off the walls, further depressing those swinging various iron tools.

     "Hey--, ho. Ho- hey--, ho." The slow methodic chanting off the walls died down again though. Nobody wanted to risk the perils of the rock dust cutting up their lungs, and the few who had tried keeping the chant going were coughing vigorously when they weren't spitting out large chunks of mucus.

     "Hey boss!" yelled a scruffy looking blue-grey diamond dog runt who looked healthier than the average guard.

     "What it now?" Came the frustrated reply. The head dog had had a long day. His feet were sore, and the last of the torches had just been set, meaning the projected progress of the mine had been on schedule for the week again.

     "Why bird no sing?" asked the pup with the genuine look of curiosity.

     Guard Dog didn't reply, instead yelling, much to the surprise of the runt, to the slavers at the other end of the passage. The drumming filly took the hint, giving off rapid warning signals to the dazed miners. Work halted, and the shifting of chains accompanied the pickaxes and shovels scraping small grooves into the gravel floor.

     Shrill whistling preceded the procession, signaling that the second bird had also fallen as well. Wintercrest jumped at the whistle and stubbed the nub of his claw, swearing under his breath, as he was unaccustomed to high pitched noises that came from the silver devices the dogs wore. His family had been one on the fringes of the old Dominion territory, and was left mostly to fend for themselves. He'd learned the basics that diamond dogs were bad and fish were good, especially the pink ones the bears normally caught, but his home had been largely isolated.

     Imagine the eye opener that getting pulled into the mines had done to him. There were other sentient beings, some with odd limbs that ended in stumps, some on two legs others on four, and others that had four paws. There were other beings with six appendages, but he was almost twice as big as them. The odd thing though? They spoke the same language. Apparently they called themselves ponies, and had three species: unicorns, pegasi, and earth ponies. Well, four technically. There was a type that had the other three rolled into one, and by the heavens, they wouldn't shut up about it. Celestia this, Celestia that. Celestia will save us. Just you wait until she who rules the day saves us.

     The constant droning wore on his nerves. Just once, he'd like to get them to face the reality that they were slaves, and wouldn't be freed. When would they learn? They'd been here for years, and still wouldn't shut up about her majesty coming to rescue them.  Celestia forbid they raise a claw against their overlords.

     *BANG!*

     'What?' Thought the white topped griffin as he instinctively spun his head away from the billowing cloud of dust that filled the passage.. He hadn't heard anything that loud in his life since his first time dealing with explosives. His hearing wasn't as good as it once was though, and this was definitely louder than then.

     Rubbing of the temples followed the initial shock, his mind addled from the percussive sound and ears not quite working properly. The moment of clarity he had was quickly replaced by a growing headache. Clouds of dust stagnantly lay in the gem-lit tunnel, forcing a large number of guards and slaves alike to cough reflexively. Chains rattled as paws and claws swiped at the dust in a desperate attempt to gain a breath free of the dust particles. The waving wings of rearing griffins and pegasi cleared the cloud soon enough, revealing the source of the noise. A large section of the wall had fallen in, nearly blocking the entrance to the mine. The dust settled, and the black maw of the cave loomed eerily over the bystanders. The nearest guard swiped a rough-hewn gem lantern from its holster on the wall, and tossed it into the void.

     Silence reigned for several seconds before a metallic, clanging noise accompanied by the shattering of a crystal was heard. The lead guard looked into the hole, and decided it needed to be explored quickly while the slaves that had been further down the mine were pushed toward the sleeping quarters beneath the city. Calling out to a slaver several dogs down the line, he pointed Wintercrest out.

     "Get griffin, no clip wings," he gruffly said, motioning a unicorn and another lantern as well. His face was stern, and looked to be deep in thought (it doesn't take much to do that to a diamond dog). Wintercrest shifted uncomfortably in his place. So far he'd been lucky to avoid having his wings clipped through good behavior, but that put him up to tasks like setting lanterns on the ceilings or inspecting those sporadic tunnels like the one in front of him, not that he would complain at the chance to stretch the appendages on his back.

     As expected, the white and charcoal griffin was selected to forge ahead into the tunnel. His chains were loosened and he was handed a softly pulsing reddish-yellow lantern. As he approached the mouth of the cave, he thought he felt an ever-so-slight breeze catch a loose feather on his forehead, twisting slightly to the side. When he double checked, nothing else came forth; no wind, no sound, nothing that would suggest anything that occurred. He plucked the offending feather from his forehead, and tossed it into the empty space in-

     "Get on with it!" Yelled the lead guard, shoving the shocked mammalian avian hybrid over the cliff.

     With a squawk and a rapid deployment of wings, the bedraggled griffin hung in the air, muttering to himself about the lack of courtesy of foreigners, and how he'd get even when he got the chance. Not that that was ever going to happen, but he would take the opportunity if it ever presented itself. Another bit of air buffeted him, stronger this time. A faint smile flashed across his beak. Wind meant there was another opening, and if he could get out, he wouldn't have to slave away at a stone wall any more. His flapping increased as the bottom came into view.

     Rubble littered the floor, and the metallic noise that the previous lantern had produced turned out to be a large, silver can. Winter furrowed his brow, and held the gem further away from his body to get a better view of what looked like a metal casket. The odd thing about it was that it looked like a large soup can. The diamond dogs were keen on this sort of food: easy to serve, easy to store, easy to eat. It wouldn't go to waste if they needed to punish someone by holding a meal or two, and the cans were reused in a variety of ways, from strengthening the shafts of shovels to providing small latrines in the mines.

    This one was huge though, its light reflecting like one of the mirrors Winter had once seen a guard using to get someone's attention. He slowly made his way to the large cylinder, cautiously picking his way across the rock-covered floor and feeling his chest tighten with anxiety. As he stepped within a foreleg's reach though, a loud hiss filled the air, originating from the object in question. Immediately he shot back to the opening with a frightened squawk, leaving a trail of feathers in his wake. He scrambled out of the opening, clawing at at the rocks only to stop when he was cowering behind a group of guards. His trembling legs gave out as he lay on the floor eyeing the black pit he'd just come out of. In his haste, he realized he left the red lantern on the floor of the cave.

     Guards laughed as the fear stricken griffin flew from the cave. There was nothing like seeing a scared prisoner, but at least this one hadn't pissed himself; not that the guards would have cleaned it up anyway. As it was, the nearest guard, which happened to be the leader, kicked Wintercrest in the stomach, and demanded to have an explanation of why he didn't stay down there. Wintercrest couldn't respond in time, and felt a second kick just below his ribs, knocking what little air he'd recovered out of his lungs and a great deal of pain to shoot though his abdomen as he coughed at the dust again.

    "Send guard down. See if gems," declared Guard Dog. The group turned back to itself, cast a lot quickly, and the winner was the one who got to go into the pit. A skinny diamond dog was pushed forward with protests, but none of the other dogs were arguing. His disgruntled look appeared to have been caused over being forced into the task, "... every time, bastards...," he muttered under his breath as he walked toward the side. He grabbed a rope and wedged it under a boulder, then began his descent. Calling up a short time later, he got the leader's attention.

     "Big. Shiny. Can," came echoing up. Guard Dog faced a dilemma: continue out of the mines or work the slaves more? After a moment of thought, he decided to leave the find. The end of the tunnel was filling with a choking gas, and he wouldn't sacrifice the slaves needlessly. He decided to wait until the other crews to get a vent system in, then he'd have a group dig up the container. Turning his back on the pit, he barked orders for the slave train to move back toward the main mining complex and residential area for the slaves.

     Rusted vents went back to large billows on the walls. Steams pistons drove the billows, pressing air deep into the earth while providing reasonable breathing conditions for slaves and guards alike. The innovation was more recent than appearances would make it out to be, only fifteen years old. Since then there'd been a few fires from accumulated dust, lending to the wearing of the vents and the draft that was often rumored to be the soul of a lost slave.

     Snakes of rattling chains followed the trains of slaves leaving the caverns for the night. Many of the slaves wore the same thousand yard stare that bore into the dirt, and the few that didn't were quickly beat into following suit. Wintercrest had learned quickly, making sure not to look up after seeing a brown minotaur repeatedly whipped for his first offense. He supposed that was how things worked in the mines: scare others from the example of an individual. Those thoughts never lasted though, seeing that if he drifted off for a moment a guard would yell and crack a whip threateningly.

     Wintercrest turned the corner as he drew near to what he now called home: a barren underground room with a rusted iron door, finally feeling his heart starting to settle from that thing he'd nearly touched. The occupants were of equal number male and female, resulting in many formal greetings and suppressed urges. He never liked it there. The small room made it too easy to commit a faux pas if one were to get too close to another in their sleep, and the tension increased every time someone woke up with a wingboner.

     A sad sigh escaped his beak as he curled up in the corner, the ground caved in from use. The griffiness walked in a minute later, gave him a contemptuous stare, and sat down in the corner behind the door. The navy pegasus walked in soon after, sitting down against the wall, followed by the unicorn. The way it worked out, everyone would get leg room if they stretched during the night.

     Sleep overcame the occupants, and as Wintercrest drifted off, he realized he never even asked their names. 'Maybe I ask morning,' was the last thought that drifted across his mind as darkness pulled his consciousness into oblivion, and brought forth the forests of his dreams. Sleep was hard to find though, the visions in his mind's eye constantly drifted back to the silver container he'd seen yesterday. It wasn't natural, and looked too refined for it to be made by the dogs. The way it gleamed was so pure; it was like he'd seen another griffin down there. His dreams were constantly of the blood-red griffin, wrought with fury and staring back with the wrath of a thousand suns as he relentlessly pursued the teenager. He shuddered violently, then tentatively went back to sleep with tremors wracking his body.

     Breakfast was pushed in through a flap at the bottom of the grey and brown door; compromised of hay and a slab of uncooked pork, waking the inmates inside. The ponies divided the hay between themselves, and the griffins did likewise with the cut of pig. Not a morsel was spared and by the end of the small meal, although strangely high quality today, the griffiness was licking the hammered tin plate. Some fat dribbled from the corner of her beak, but was quickly swept off with a swiping of her foreleg. Wintercrest repeated her actions, receiving an icy glare for doing so, and hung his head low while he waited for the door to be opened.

     'I ask her name today,' thought Wintercrest, slowly stretching out a cramp in his back that had come during one of the more memorable night terrors he'd experienced. He opened his mouth to ask, but the door swung open violently. The fact that it opened inward always confused him too, seeing that the occupants could just bar the door to keep from going to work if they smuggled something in. Then again, the floors were dirt, and the dogs could practically swim through that under the door and into the cell.

     "Git," barked the dog outside, revealing several yellowed and hole-riddled teeth as an attempted act of intimidation, instead performing a mild form of fumigation that would leave a foul odor for hours at a time. The laborers complied, leaving their nighttime home and returning to their respective places of work. Wintercrest went back to looked at his claws, making sure not to turn his head up for anything other than the demands of his captors.

     'Stupid! I should ask her then,' and various vulgar versions of self-berating apprehension continued as he held a leg out to be chained, and was briskly marched back to yesterday's find. The hole still gaped, but now had two gem lanterns guarding either side of it, almost like they were supposed to keep demons at bay. Winter shivered at the thought. Rumors had gone around recently that other dens had dug too deep and hit Tartarus. They had to be lying, didn't they? Tartarus didn't exist, just like Celestia controlled the sun. The idea put a hint of doubt in is chest, and he was knocked out of his reverie, literally.

     A clawed foot kicked his stomach yet again, knocking him over and almost making him vomit. Instead he coughed, and glared at the assailant before catching himself. He didn't want to end up punished; he wanted any comfort he could get.

     "Back to bottom, after lunch" came the muffled order. The dog was gnawing on a bone that smelled like he'd found it in the garbage, and looked to be enjoying it more than the average sentient would have. He almost snickered when he entertained the image of a cartoon skull with a walnut sized brain. He'd seen a newspaper in the time he spent in Vorpal. It wasn't useful since he couldn't read, but the comics (once explained) were humorous to him.

     So continued his normal routine until what was considered lunch, or the mid-shift break. He was fairly lucky he was placed where he was, all things considered. 'I no idea how groups go all day no break, it... Is word for it?' The area above his eyes darkened in confusion. He knew he'd heard the word before, somewhere...

     'Suicide,' he finally thought, 'suicide.'

     It had been a long time since he'd heard that word, and even then the concept was hard to imagine for a hatchling. Who would think to kill themselves?

     'Maybe I do that,' he thought despondently. 'Maybe then I rest...' He shook his head violently, making sure to try and purge his mind from those trains of thought. The remnants of the idea hung to the cobwebs his memories rested on, making each one seem less pleasant, darker even. He was almost... envious. Wintercrest raised a palm toward the ceiling, slowly flexing his claws into a tightening fist. By the time he stopped, blood flowed freely from the self-inflicted gauges. His claws relaxed considerably, letting more liquid flow out.

     Whistles blew, break's over. Back to work.

     Feet crunched loose stone, and unicorn horns lit up the area in search of gems. Wintercrest was just ready to start in on a pocket of gems when he was slammed into the wall. He fell to the floor in a crumpled heap, thinking that this was his week to be beaten up. He sighed, shook the stars from his vision and looked at the guard who'd rammed him irritably for a second, then recovered his mask of sadness.

     "Boss want you, now," was the short message. Short was not enough to keep his breath from lingering though, and it smelled worse than the makeshift latrine down the hall, even battling that of the guard who regularly woke up.

     The shackle was unlocked from his hind leg, some chaffing has set in. He'd meant to find a scrap of cloth earlier to lessen the aggravation, but pawed his way over to the pit anyway. Other slaves were standing there too... even his cellmate.

     With a blush blooming forth on his cheeks, Wintercrest turned his head down to keep from looking anyone in the eye. An old stallion had told him the eyes were the windows to the soul, an odd thing coming from a pony who loved dirt so much, and as such, he decided that he didn't want to make his emotions known yet.

     "Come on, Loverboy! Hurry up!" Yelled Guard Dog, the leader of the bunch. Winter swore under his breath. He didn't know what he'd done wrong. He looked away, made sure to avoid eye contact, he thought as he trudged the second half of his walk. By the time he'd made it over to the edge of the hole, he'd settled down, regaining his humble mask and hoping the cracks wouldn't show through. Guard Dog took no notice though, instead addressing the group in general and not paying attention to any individual in particular, "I want you to tell me what in can at bottom of pit. When done opening, yell. We come get you. If you come back on own, we'll cut off wings," he ended with a sense of finality, turning towards a pair of shoddily tied ropes. There was a lamp at the bottom already, at least giving the group of four a sense of depth instead of the dreary darkness of yesterday.

     The griffiness took the lead, plucking the dark orange unicorn off the ground, and flapping her wings strongly enough to carry them to the bottom. Wintercrest looked to his right to see a larger fellow standing next to him. His mane was short, and his skin baggy. A slight stench came from him, almost as that of a decaying animal. Winter crest suppressed a gag, and wrapped his arms around the stallion's rib cage before lifting off. His wings burned with the first flap, and writhed with the second.

     "Uh, hey?" Came the causal tone from the unmoved stallion, as the griffin struggled for all his worth to lift him. "I'm a pegasus?" The flapping immediately stopped, and the fuse between cat and bird was found paused comically in mid-flap.

     "Well I'll be a son of a-" *crack* went a whip, cutting off the most complex sentance Wintercrest had managed to pick up from the ponies.

     "Get down there already!"

     The pegasus mumbled, "For a guy who's supposed to have broken Equish...”

     "I heard that!" *crack*, yelled the guard.

     The two slaves yelped and jumped over the side at the same time, realizing too late that they wouldn't be able to fly side by side. Feathers flew, but the fall was prevented by their wedging against each other between the walls.

     "Ow, neck!"

     "Your neck? My wing! I think you dislocated it!"

     "At least wing no hold your fat ass!"

     "You're right, it's holding up yours, ya no good griffin!"

     "Bit-"

     "Hey!" Shouted a female voice, echoing from the bottom of the hole.

     "WHAT!" And as they turned their head toward the voice that broke the chain of insults, so too did it break the bind they found themselves quarreling over. "AHHHH!" *clunk*

     "MY, hehe, MY FUNNY BONE!" Came the sharp cry, interrupted by a chuckle-like gasp.

     Wintercrest rolled over to see a pegasus cradling his elbow, gasping for air while somewhat chuckling with pain.

     "I... my leg's numb," stated the navy mammal, suppressing the urge to let any more accidental laughter escape.

     "Suck up. Hatchling," came the disgruntled, uncaring reply from a somewhat shaken griffin. He wouldn't admit to that though, anything to avoid appearing weak.

     "SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU, BE QUIET!" The griffiness screeched, giving the two males a 'so help me God, if I could kill you right now, I would' stare. "It hasn't been thirty seconds since we got in here, and you two are practically in a fight already! I'd expect it from the whitehead over there, but come on!"

     Wintercrest was taken aback. Did he really do something to piss her off that bad? He nervously preened his wing, thinking the matter over.

     "Alright, let's get this lug of metal out of the way, then we can leave this Tartarus forsaken pit," spoke the unicorn with an even voice. She was unshaken and looked like she was expecting this to have happened. She sighed, resigning herself to having to work with this bunch of idiots, with the exception of the griffiness, after all women were the stronger sex according to her, and would have to adjust accordingly. "Let's just open the can. We can yell at each other when we leave." The others nodded in agreement, and went about gathering the scattered tools that lay around the floor from whoever had set up the lanterns.

     The navy pegasus found a crowbar, as did the griffiness.

     'Well, here goes nothing...' "Soooo, what you name? I Wintercrest," 'That sound worse than thought.'

     The unicorn glanced up from looking at the mostly silver can, "Well, I'm Rustic Rune" she replied as she shifted a pair of cracked glasses on her nose, not bothering to look up from her observation of the object. The only seam she could find was a thin line that held a small amount of black dust, the only indicator a seam was there at all. "Well? What about the rest of you? You have names, right?"

     With a groan and a bit of remorse, the stallion stepped forward with a sharpened crowbar, and fit it into the dark line. "Well, first I want to apologize about earlier. That wasn't either of our faults and we got carried away," he leaned back with all his weight, only to have the crowbar bend and fall out of the junction. A few birds flew over a rolling pair of eyes, and a shake of the heard later they'd disappeared, "I'm Star Hunter." He patted the dirt off himself with a few flaps of his wings, filling the air with dust. A coughing fit later helped clear the airborne debris, and the dust had settled back into the cracks from which it had been disturbed.

     "What that on butt?" Asked Wintercrest, he knew about cutie marks, but didn't understand why Star Hunter's butt was glowing.

     "Oh, you mean my cutie mark?"

     "Yes, why glow?"

     "No idea. It's always been like that," was the nonchalant reply. Star scooped another crowbar under a wing, and set it against the wall so he would stop hitting it with his hoof. "I have seen a few other marks that glowed, but not many. Most of them had to do with the stars, but the one that comes to mind was a flashlight."

     "...Flashlight? What flashlight?" The others looked incredulously to the male griffin. "What?"

     "Did you grow up under a rock?" said Rustic Rune.

     "Why I do that? I hungry if under rock."

     "No. I mean, did you ever go anywhere other than where you were born?"

     Wintercrest slumped onto his hind legs and thought, pinching his beak slightly. It wasn't long that he realized the only places he'd traveled to were the woods outside his home and where the diamond dogs had dragged him.

     "It's not really too uncommon for that to happen. If a family finds a secluded spot that has a lot of game, they really wouldn't want to go anywhere else until a situation forced them to. Survival of the fittest, yah?" Piped up the griffiness, "By the way, I'm Helena."

     The ponies nodded heads in agreement before Rune started explaining, "Imagine a gem lantern that you hold on a stick. It's a good way to see in the dark if you aren't a unicorn."

     With that tidbit of information filed away, Wintercrest got to work digging out the rest of the container. It was embedded in rock, but the going wasn't bad. Just another day in the mines, get used to it.

     "GAH! WHY DOESN'T THIS BUCKING THING OPEN?!" Yelled what had appeared to have been the most reserved group member, exhausting her magic reserves on trying to tear the lid off by brute force. The metal device shook violently, but didn't budge from its dug-up grave. The griffiness had helped pry metal ring off her horn, putting it onto a ledge so they could reattach it later. The off-red coat was covered in sweat, and she gave up with a huff. The group was breathing deeply as they recuperated their strength, having tried every way imaginable to open the damned thing but bearing no fruit for their labor.

     The impromptu break was desperately needed, even if nobody wanted to admit defeat to a big tin can. Nevertheless, that didn't mean tensions weren't strained.

     "Jeez, Rune. Can't even open a big ol' jar," began Star.

     "WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!"

     "Well, you were bragging about being able to open it if you had your magic, and now you do," he continued, oblivious to the death stare that would be staking him to the rock wall behind him if he made eye contact. He propped his head up with his forelimbs, stretching out a kink between his wings.

     "WELL MAYBE IF A CERTAIN PEGASUS WOULD GET OFF HIS FLANK AND HELP, WE COULD HAVE HAD THIS DONE BY NOW!" She finished, spilling over her legs and onto the floor as the energy tax from the spell caught up with her. "Sorry Star. I know you were joking, but it's been a long day."

     "Feeling better now?"

     "Yeah."

     "Good, now what number were we on?"

     "Well," began Wintercrest, "We at," he counted on his fingers quickly, "Ten fives and three."

     "Fifty three. Jeez," yawned the blue pegasus, sprawling out and popping his limbs as he did so. "Maybe if we just said please..."

     "Like that's gonna work, why don't you just say 'Open sesame' and be done with it?" Chucked Rustic Rune, lying down beside him, breathing deeply. The griffins perched themselves on two rocks on either side of the metal curiosity after Run's temper tantrum, Winter on the left and Helena on the right.

     Wintercrest interjected, mistaking the joke for something serious, "Open Sesame!"

     "Wintercrest, you know we were-" the sound of hissing silenced the group. Soon to follow was the sound of shifting parts, metallic clicks and clanks as the group slowly backed away from the can.

     Helena had only one thing to add, "You've gotta be kidding me."