In the Shadow of The Wall
In medias res.
Gumdrop tossed and turned on fine feather bed he had been given for the night. Despite being by far the best thing he had slept on in years, the looming prospect of the task given to him weighed too heavily to afford any sleep. Every word, every dark tale of the horror that he had heard of the artocites committed by the Cult, be they Celestia's truth or old mare's tales told to scare foals, bounced around the inside of his head, warning him of the horrors ahead.
He rolled off the bed and onto his hooves, and turning on a few gas lamps with the magic of his horn, began to pace the room. It was a beautiful place, prewar craftmenship, hardwood floors, elaborately carved walls, and what Gumdrop suspected to be real gold trim. Then again, to expect anything else from the patron of Manehattan's Artisian district would most likely be an insult, so he put that question out of his mind.
As he made his way to the window, the view, he noticed was less fantastic. High as the guestroom was, it afforded a view above and beyond The Wall. Only a few years ago, what would have been a breathtaking view of the surrounding countryside was transformed over the years into the collection of refugees, bandits and thugs that make up the Undercity. Even in the dead of night, Gumdrop could see the watch fires in that horrid place. A place home only to the depraved, the desperate, the damned, and, until this morning, himself.
Just before morning rations, earlier that day,
Gumdrop scanned the crowd lazily from his crude guard tower. Mostly earth ponies, a few pegasi and the occasional aged unicorn thrown in. They jostled in their hundreds, forcing their way into a rough line, but it was unlikely that anypony was going to cause trouble. In the streets? Anypony in this crowd would probably start a fight over nothing and, with winter coming, less then that. Here however, there was an excited order. One does not buck with rations.
This made ration distribution Gumdrop's favorite part of the job. Patrols always mean fights. Refugee processing always means fights. Seizing contraband? You KNEW there was going to be a fight. But here, anypony causes trouble, there's a thousand hooves ready to shut them up. Gumdrop knew it, and the sea of ponies before him knew it. He was safe here. He was the Keymaster.
Captain Steelhoof, the stout earthpony in charge of this section of The Undercity Auxillery, stood across the square from Gumdrop next to the pipe that, twice a day, shot out a tonne of grain for the refugees. The pipes led up and up and over the mile high Wall, Gumdrop knew not where. But everyday, twice a day, both here and three other places on the wall, they shot out grain. And everyday, twice a day, Captain Steelhoof's Auxillery stood around the edge of the squares and watched it. That, Captain Steelhoof told them, is the only reason that most of the animals in the Undercity don't scale those walls into Manehattan.
Gumdrop adjusted his Undercity Auxillery vest over his coat. The vest was his badge of office, a point of pride, but the damn thing had been made for a pony twice Gumdrop's size. He had actually been pretty lucky to get work with them. The Auxillery was on a recuitment drive looking for big, bruiser stallions, but Gumdrop was able to convince Steelhoof that it never hurts to have a unicorn around. Even if that unicorn was a scrawny mostly dead refugee. He wasn't that scrawny refugee anymore, but he still prefered to avoid fights where he could.
A rushing noise began eminating from the pipes, and the pitch of the crowd grew. Some wiseass in the back of the group shouted "Soups on everypony!" and the assembled horde began to push toward the giant trough lying below the long pipe. A few ponies fell under the hooves of the crowd. Some got up quickly. Others didn't.
The grain began pouring out of the pipes. The feeding frenzy was on.
The pegasi took to the sky, hitting the trough from high angles, trying to grab a much grain as they could in small bags and their mouths before flying away. The unicorns, pushed to the back of the group tired to leivtate some food to themselves but found that impossible. Go to low, the earth ponies got it. Too high and it was picked off by the pegisi. The bulk of the ponies, the ones without wings or magic, pushed and shoved at each other, some with large sacks, but most just trying to get a mouthful. The scene went on like this of a disturbingly short period of time, and then there was nothing. A few stragglers, hungry and brusied, stayed in the square licking their wounds, but within moments of the feeding ending, the trough was a ghost town.
Steelhoof trotted into the center of the square and motioned for the Auxilleryponies to meet him. As Gumdrop climbed down off of his perch, the rest of the group on ration duty began to reach Steelhoof.
"Very polite today, aye Captain?" shouted T.T. a big dumb goofy stallion with a cutie mark of a stack of horse shoes, as he pranced over to the assembling group. "Hardly anypony got crushed!"
Gumdrop snorted at the joke and cantered over the group, about ten Auxilleries in all. That pony better watch himself.
Steelhoof nodded. "Good work everyone, just the way we like them. Did anyone get a bead on that joker earlier?"
Wind Whisper, the group's eye in the sky raised a hoof, "Pointed him out to Blackburn. He took him into the Blockhouse for standard cultist interrogation."
"Good. Can't be too safe these days." Steelhoof removed his helmet, a beat up number that looked remicent of the old Canterlot Guard number, polished it and put it back on. "Everyone, fall in at the blockhouse. Don't want to miss chowtime for Whitegolds finest."
The group fell into two lines behind Steelhoof, with Whisper flying a few meters above them. As they trotted through the streets to the blockhouse, looked over the same falling over structures, the same huddled masses of ponies, the same tents and cooking fires and the same misery that pervades all of the Undercity. The place contantly smelled of an open sewer, because thats what it was. If you couldn't afford Whitegold taxes, or had nothing they wanted, they flushed you here. Gumdrop felt for the scrawy ponies as he trotted past. He had been there, right with them, most of the Auxilleries had, but none of them were ready to give up what little they had for them. As their pleading eyes followed the column as it marched to the blockhouse, questions, demands and more then a few insults were thrown at Gumdrop and his companions.
"Please, tell them that this isn't enough, there are too may here, we need more rations!" A stallion with sunken eyes pleaded.
"Take my colt, please! Train him how you like, just take him away!" A skeletal mare with a squalling colt in her saddlebag begged of the Captain, but he just kept going. He had to.
In an alley just off the street they marched along, a mare dressed in a procative saddle and done up clumsly in makeup called out to the group. "Hey there little toys, off to feed? Save some for me. " T.T. turned his head as the passed, to keep his eye on her. She winked at him. "I'm saving something for you."
Steelhoof, without turning around, barked at T.T. to keep his eyes front. The stallion snapped his head back foward. The had reached the Blockhouse. The long squat building, buit into the very side of Manehattan's famous Wall, served two purposes. One, during invasion, it acted as a sallyport, a way that defending ponies could exit the city proper to meet the enemy on open ground without compmising the main gate, and two, it served as this section of the city's garrison. Gumdrop had called it home for two years, but its gray, harsh facade never really seemed homey. The iron doors swung open for the Captain and his men, and as soon as they were through they were shut again.
A moment of darkness. They were trapped between the inner and outer doors. Someone coughed.
The small sliding window entered with a bang. Through the slit view it allowed, Gumdrop could see the eyes of Firelight Glow, the only other unicorn in Gumdrop's section, and Gatekeeper to the Blockhouse.
"Sorry sir," Firelight offered to Captain Steelhoof, "One of the other blockhouses caught a changling trying to sneak in. We're back on full alert."
"Do you duty then, Sergeant Glow." Steelhoof responded, clearly annoyed. The yellow-orange light of Firelight's magic began to dance from pony to pony, looking for any masks or glimmers that had been throw up to hide a Changling. When the magic hit Gumdrop, it stopped and began to pulse red. The other ponies trapped between the gates backed away from him, dropping their heads down, ready to charge Gumdrop if he even moved.
"Fine," Gumdrop snorted, "You got me." His horn began to glow a deep green and the magic enveloped the stallion's mane, changing its appearance from the long, wavey brown that Gumdrop liked to the close cropped and burned mane of reality. "That crazy we brought in on patrol last night nearly set me on fire, ok? Let a guy have a little vainity."
Firelight's magic began to glow it normal yellow-orange, indicating all was well. Captain Steelhoof stomped up to Gumdrop.
"Officer Shoeshod, that was dumb. We almost killed you. That never happens again, are we clear?"
Gumdrop nodded. Like I was looking to catch a beating, he thought. Firelight finished her sweep and let the assembled ponies in.
"Dungeon, sweet, dungeon." T.T. quipped, removing his helmet. Gumdrop had to agree, stepping into the dank interior of the Blockhouse.
