Chapter Forty Four

Many Revelations, Many Plans

Have any of you ever been in a Turkish prison? The conditions are beyond hellish, but the surprising thing is, a more “upscale” part of the prison is a far less unfavorable place to be held captive. Sure, it stinks, its can get cold at night, and the ever-present feeling of the bars closing in on you can really make one feel hopeless, but overall, it’s not so bad.

When you are imprisoned with no way of validating your identity, however, things can take a turn for the... unfair.

“I’m telling you, all the paperwork we need was with our things in the carriage,” Spike said for the umpteenth time to the prison guards, a pair of griffons who spent more time playing cards than actually listening or talking with them half the time. Understandable, seeing as how nothing ever seemed to get done in this place, but you’d think the lives of Spike’s wives and their unborn foals would take precedence over some managerial oversight in need of correction.

“We’ve told you more than once that any and all items seized during such an event are stored away for proper judicial review,” the one guard said, glancing up from his cards over into the prison cell. “Besides, even if what you say is true, there are well over forty proper channels to go through, most of which are incomparably busy all year round. You’d be lucky if someone found and was able to properly sort through all of your papers by the time your foals were five years old.”

“Five years old? I’m expecting in less than eight months, and Maria and Chrysalis here are due within a month of that!” Trixie said, her anger as palpable as fear. She did not want her foal born in some prison cell, far from the warmth of his/her home in Equestria, and surrounded by fear, uncertainty, and the possibility of nigh-unending imprisonment. “Isn’t there any way to... speed up the process?”

“I’m afraid not, miss,” the other guard said, looking awfully bored as he drew another card from the deck. “We are under strict orders to keep the five of you under control, and prevent any... mishaps from occurring.”

“Mishaps?” Asalah asked softly.

“Anypony trying to come and see you without the proper paperwork, anypony trying to break you out of the prison, any attempt by any of you to break out... you know, something along those lines,” the first guard said. He glanced at Spike, almost seeing the cogs working in his head. “Don’t even think about it, dragon.”

“Think about what?” Spike asked, confused why they instantly seemed to think he'd try and break out. granted, that had been on his mind, but for the time being, he had a feeling breaking out would be far more trouble than the freedom it would provide would be worth..

“Trying to use your abilities to break out of here,” the second guard said. “See those bars surrounding you, and the stone above and below you? They’re cursed, the kind that most pleasant folk don’t want mentioned in the history books. Plus, your food; it’s specially made to keep you in good condition, but not to help you restore your energy.” Maybe that explained why it tasted rather bland and yet, at the same time, like something made of tofu and toenails. Spike only knew what that tasted like because of a dare by the Cutie Mark Crusaders back when he was younger.

“Cursed?” Maria asked as she fiddled with the ends of Asalah’s braids. There wasn’t much else to do in the cell, and nopony (or dragon) was in the mood for getting frisky. “What kind of curse?”

“The kind I doubt any of you would even remotely stand a chance at breaking,” the first guard said as he drew another card from the deck. “It’s a magic-storing curse, a “dungeon-well”, if you will. It absorbs all magic directed against it, innate or material, and uses that very magic to strengthen itself.”

“I’m guessing it’s a very old kind of curse?” Chrysalis asked, glad for once nopony in this entire empire knew of who they were, or more importantly, who she truly was. Now, for the first time in what seemed forever, she could travel without having to don her “Meia” disguise. None of the guards had really reacted differently to her appearance than the others, other than a passive curiosity pertaining to how she could fly, given the holes in her glittering wings.

“Ancient in type, a bit over a century in age,” the second guard replied as he laid a pair of fives down on the small table. “It cost the enchanter their magic to place such a powerful curse.” There was a particular viciousness to the way he said “enchanter”, as if the mere word brought a very bitter taste to his mouth.

“Oh... my,” Trixie muttered, her eyes going wide at this startling revelation. “It... it was blood magic, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed,” first guard replied, shuffling his wings behind him slightly as he lay down a pair of sixes. “Nasty stuff, that blood magic; it’s banned now, but back in our empire’s not-so-illustrious past, it was common in all but the most conservative of cities, Istanbul included. Of course, back in those days it was Constantinople, and before that Byzantium, but I digress.”

“What happened with it? The blood magic, I mean?” Spike asked, curious as to why the guard sounded sarcastic, and a little pained, when he mentioned the past.

“One of our emperors was assassinated with it,” the second guard said, looking up from his cards and turning to face the dragon in full. “Murdered in his own court, by a dissenting member of his own retinue; the villain took down the last griffin emperor our proud country ever had.”

“What... what happened next?” the dragon asked, sensing a rather patriotic side to these guards, although this patriotism seemed to have little to actually do with the Ottomare Empire. Empires in this part of the world often had a long and terribly bloody history, complete with fratricide, patricide and all manners of coups, rebellions and outright wars. Ponies and other beings here never seemed to agree on anything, and if any of the three hundred thousand scrolls he had sent Twilight had informed him of anything, then there was likely even more bloodshed and betrayals in this empire’s history than he had been led to believe.

“All forms of blood magic were outlawed, upon penalty of excruciating death, along with anypony harboring such a practitioner, be they friend, relative or random civilian,” the other griffin said softly. “As punishment for his crime, that traitorous unicorn was forced to create that very cell you are in now, and thus was promptly stripped of his magic in the process. He was then thrown into that very cell, sentenced to live in it for his entire life, which coincidentally did not last long after his betrayal.”

“Why is that?” Asalah asked, she and the other mares shivering slightly at the thought of being trapped in what was the last act if magic by an emperor-slaying unicorn. Did he starve himself to death, or did his magic come back and rip him to pieces? Strange things happened to magic when separated from their users; spells could become twisted far beyond their original form if left alone for far too long.

“Killed himself,” the second griffin said simply, almost sounding a bit happy as he said that. “Took him a few months, but he managed to saw off his own horn with a loose stone, sharpen it in secret, and then plunge it into his own heart. The pain of slowly filing through that living bit of bone must have been truly terrible, judging from the screams he was purported to have emitted in his sleep. That must have been the only time his self-control was at its weakest.”

“Haven’t other assassins throughout this city’s history been killed on the spot?” Spike asked. He didn’t questions others too much, but it seemed rather odd that this unicorn had been spared, if only to take his own life in a manner that brought a shiver to Spike’s spine.

“No, dragon: many were imprisoned, or a few pardoned, in the case of the emperor they slew being a total fiend to his country,” the second griffin said. “Our last emperor before the conquest by the Turks was a griffin, an heir to a bloodline that had originally been in charge of this city, but had then been subverted several centuries before. The line itself had been kept secret, safe, until at last they could return with as little bloodshed as possible. That emperor’s father was ruler for forty years before he grew too old and decrepit to rule fairly and justly, and his son took over.”

There seemed to be a token of sadness in the second guard’s voice. “He was just like his father, I’ve heard: fair, just, chivalrous, kind yet firm, and altogether unwilling to sacrifice his citizens for false glories and other nonsense. He... he was going to bring us greatness through peace, just like his father, and...”

“I take it you’re not exactly the biggest fans of your current lords?” Maria asked quietly. Her voice was soft and understanding, and yet it carried with it a sense of knowing just how these griffins felt. She knew of the hardships many of her own kind had faced at the hands of invaders over the centuries. For her, many of these events belonged in the distant past, but it was obvious these events were still fresh in the minds of griffins.

The two guards looked at her with a pair of curious expressions, almost as if both startled by her question and unsure if they should even be speaking to them at all. “Well... we are taken care of, and we are at peace,” the first guard started slowly. “It’s just... we griffins don’t have the same advantages we used to. We were hunters, gatherers, herdsmen and fishers: we supplied all of the meat-eating beings within a massive portion of the empire. The lands of Greece are our home, where many of us believe we first originated from. But...”

“We were reduced to second-class citizens after the fall of the Byzantine Empire,” the second guard replied. “The same went for our long-time allies in these lands, the minotaurs, which call Anatolia and many of the Grecian islands their home. Many simply fled these lands all those years ago, spreading to the four corners of the world, and from what I’ve heard well across the sea, to establish their own kingdom.” He sighed, in what seemed a wistful manner. “I heard a few of our kind did that so many years before, back when the Roamans were conquering everything in sight.”

“Yes, well, there is a Griffin Kingdom in Equestria,” Spike said slowly, as a creaking noise emanated from the far wall. “It’s-,”

“-none of our concern,” a sharp voice said, causing the two guards to stand at attention. In walked the griffin from before, her eyes sharp and her beak twisted into a bemused smirk. “So, been chatting with the prisoners, have we?”

“Yes- I mean, no ma’am, we just-,” the first guard sputtered, only for a raised hand to cut him off.

“I did not say it was against the rules to converse with them,” Myrrina said, looking over the prisoners as if herself curious about them. “In fact, it is a good thing that you do, so that we may learn more about them. I just came to check on you, and to make sure Hyginus hadn’t showed up: has he, by chance?”

“No, ma’am: none have shown up today besides ourselves, and you,” the second guard said. “Shall we inform you if he does drop by?”

“Yes: be sure to do that as soon as you can,” Myrrina said. “I don’t want him anywhere near these prisoners, especially the mares.” She glanced over at the five in the cell, who seemed rather intrigued and mortified by her tone of voice. They had no idea just how much of a monster Hyginus could be when he was alone with prisoners. “Unless I come in, or the guards I send to relieve you do, I want not a single being alone with them: understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” the guards said in unison, saluting her with utmost respect. “Stand firm.”

“Live well,” Myrrina said, the phrase of her culture holding much more significance to her and the guards then the five prisoners could even begin to understand. Turning around after her own return salute, she closed and locked the door behind her, leaving the seven of them behind.

Strolling out of the very foreboding-looking prison building, Myrrina walked down the steps leading up to it, only to find the griffin she had left behind feeding a few errant pigeons. Sighing at the griffin’s antics, she watched the pigeons fly away when she approached.

“Mother, you know I don’t like this part of the city,” the young griffin said, the smile on her beak betraying her tone as being nothing more than fake whining. “I wish the prison was down by the water’s edge: at least then I could go swimming whenever I want. Maybe the prisoners could go for a swim too, huh?”

“Ah, Eutropia, if only I had had your sense of humor when I was your age,” the griffin said with a small laugh, clasping her daughter on the shoulder and hugging her close. Together, they walked on, their home not too far from the prison. “I told you, prisoners would try to escape far too often from that prison if there was water right next to it.”

“I know, I know, I’m just curious as to why no prisons were ever near water,” the younger griffin said as they walked along.

“Well, when you get old enough to understand, you’ll likely have your own clutch of hatchlings to attend to,” her mother said with a small smile. “Authority can make ponies and others think crazy things, and even I have trouble understanding such plans and ideas from time to time. Most of it's above my pay grade, anyway, so don't think too long on it, my sweet.”

Eutropia was somewhat of an oddity, even for a griffin. Firstly, she did not have good social skills outside of her family: griffins were almost notorious for introducing themselves to others and trying to be friendly. Sure, there were a few exceptions, but they were the ones that exemplified the others. Eutropia, on the other hand, had a very cold and/or dispassionate way of dealing with strangers, something she had inherited from neither her mother nor father.

Secondly, Eutropia was a great flyer, but was not a quick climber. There was nothing wrong with her in any aspect of climbing, but unlike the rest of the griffin race, which had evolved to learn how to climb if their wings were hurt or the conditions in their mountainous homes was unfavorable, Eutropia grew weary and exhausted after only a few minutes of climbing. She could run plenty fast, faster than most griffins, but her lack of social skills and her weakness in climbing had made her somewhat of an outcast among the other griffins her age. As such, she usually only spent her time training in the armory, or swimming, or flying; in those areas, she excelled.

She was her mother’s daughter all right, from the way she carried herself, to the way she had a particular passion for the simpler things in life. But there still was a small bit of her father inside the young griffin, something Myrrina was glad existed.

She missed him.

“Mother, is something wrong?” Eutropia asked, looking up at her mother with a curious expression. Her mother’s silent smile had gone away, like the last vestiges of spring as the year progressed into summer. It was subtle, incredibly so, but to her it was blatantly obvious.

“What? Oh, um,” Myrrina said slowly, regaining her composure after losing herself in her thoughts. “Just... just thinking was all.”

“About father?” the much younger griffin asked as they passed several merchants selling some fruit.

Myrrina sighed: there was that bit of her father in her. Sharp, inquisitive, able to read others like an open book: no wonder he had been the sultan’s most prized spy and assassin. “Yes, Eutropia, it was about your father. How many years has it been since his passing?”

“A week from now, it’ll have been seven years,” she said softly, not sounding upset, but not the sort of thing one would say in a happy tone. “I miss him, though the pain isn’t what it used to be. Is that normal?”

“More than you think, my sweet hatchling,” her mother said, pulling her close once more as they finally arrived at their home. “To feel pain, even in diminished ways, is proof you are alive. Physical or not, it is your own: not a single thing in this world can truly change you from what you are.”

“And what am I?” Eutropia asked as they walked inside, making sure to firmly lock the door behind them. In this part of the city, crime was nearly nonexistent, but a closed door would keep out the few honest thieves.

Myrrina smiled and pulled her daughter in for another hug, ruffling up the feathers on her head as she did so. “A griffin of Sparta, heir to a tradition older than any Turkish pony can imagine. But more importantly, you are my daughter. Nothing will ever change that, be it time or distance.”

The younger griffin chuckled as they went to the family room, a space others might think of as a living room. It was a place for gatherings, both great and small, and one where conversations were held in any manner, be they private or public. Waiting for them was Myrrina’s own mother, a shriveled old griffin by the name of Ligeia. She already had three cups of steaming tea waiting for them, an import from the East that griffins had taken a rather strong liking to.

“Hello mother,” Myrrina said as she and her own daughter sat down. “How was today at the market?” Ligeia ran a small fruit stand during the middle of the day, if only to be able to listen in on gossip and still manage to sell some fruit to youngsters.

“Good,” was all the old griffin said, her voice soft and low. She wasn’t terribly old as griffins went, but the years of her working out in fields and forests, compared to her daughter mostly working in buildings for the government, had prematurely aged her. That, and her clutches of eggs had always been numerous in number: Myrrina had a large extended family, though most of them still lived back home in Sparta. “Tell me about yours.”

Myrrina sighed: her mother had always been rather harsh, even if she was an entirely lovable griffin. She’d have thought time away from the fields and forests and the hardships within them would have mellowed her out a bit, but not Ligeia: tougher than nails and about as abrasive as glass shards, even if she didn’t mean to be. “Well, as you know, there are five new prisoners in the dungeon; foreigners, from the look of things, and rather interesting ones at that.”

“How so?” Eutropia asked, politely taking her own cup of tea from her grandmother’s outstretched talons.

“Well, the most interesting one is a dragon from Equestria with four wives, as documented in a few of his travel papers,” the griffin said, glad for once she’d been able to “officially” swipe a few of the documents before they had been hauled off to storage for later examination. She felt nothing wrong with spying on these individuals, especially if it meant going through their stuff: she was just doing her job, however difficult it may be, and any bit of information she could learn on these five might help her understand their true intentions. “He’s around your age, my dear, but other than that, I wasn’t able to find anything else out about him before the majority of the five’s travel papers were sealed away.”

“A dragon? I didn’t think dragons traveled in this part of the world anymore, what with our empire’s views on them,” Eutropia said, taking a sip of her tea. “What is he like?”

“I bet he’s good-looking,” Ligeia said softly, stirring a few cubes of sugar into her own tea. The youngest griffin in the room snickered at that, while Myrrina just sighed in exasperation.

“Mother, that’s hardly appropriate,” the captain of the guard said.

“Appropriate nothing: it wouldn’t hurt for my granddaughter to start looking for a nice griffin to settle down with,” the oldest griffin said, casting her eyes upon Eutropia. “Half of her cousins are already married and caring for clutches: why not she?”

“Because I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times, mother, Eutropia does not need to be saddled with eggs so early in her life,” Myrrina said. “We live in a city, where too many hatchlings are a detriment to one’s livelihood, unlike the countryside. Besides, it’s cramped enough in the city: do you really think this house could support a couple of rambunctious hatchlings?”

“Well, getting married can be a blessing too, my daughter,” Ligeia said, taking a long sip of her tea. “Take for instance this dragon you mentioned: you said he had four wives, no?”

“Yes, I did, though how that connects to all of this remains unclear,” Myrrina replied. Her mother could be stubborn at times; stuck in the “old ways”, as some of the other city-dwelling griffins had said. The more grandchildren she had, the more she could visit and/or spoil them. It was like a drug to Ligeia, to see her line grow so vast in her lifetime.

“Well, I should like to hear about these four mares,” the old griffin said, glancing at her granddaughter. “I’d like to hear of at least someone who’s young and married.” Ligeia was an old coot, for sure, and an outsider might have seen this comment as something rude, but Eutropia knew better: her grandmother loved her very much, and meant nothing by those comments.

Little did she know just who else was listening in on their conversation, or else she might have not told her mother anything. A hooded figure, pressed up against the bars of their shut window, managed to hear almost everything through the small cracks in the woodwork. Silently leaving, they quickly made their way across the city, passing through shadows as though they were part of them.

Arriving at a rather decorated palatial estate, the figure scrambled up the side, the tresses holding up baskets of flowers providing a very easy method of climbing. Hopping inside through the open balcony, the figure removed the hood and looked around.

“Right on time,” a voice said, causing the figure to turn around slowly. Dressed in his day clothes, Devrim walked over to the spy in his employ. His day clothes, of course, were worth more money than a griffin guard might make in a year, but he didn’t care; he was the sultan’s nephew, and as such had access to funds other ponies could only dream of. “I take it your mission was a success?”

“As always,” the spy said, clasping his employer’s forearm as a sign of respect and comradery. The two of them had known each other for a very long time, so it was only fair that Devrim contacted him first whenever he had a job in need of being completed. “I take it you wish to hear of it?”

“Yes, yes, of course: tell me everything,” Devrim said as the pair sat down in two comfortable chairs. “What news could you find about the dragon and his group? The bureaucracy prevents even me from finding his papers, and I knew that griffin captain couldn’t resist looking over even a little bit of it, if only for security reasons.” He paused for a moment. “I take it she’s rather open-lipped with her close relatives?”

“Incredibly so, sir,” the spy said. “I doubt she’d even tell her most trusted guards as much information as she told her family.”

“Well, go on them: tell me everything,” Devrim said.

The spy cleared his throat before he began. “Well, as you know, the dragon, called Spike Dragul, is a citizen of Equestria. That was really all I could gather, since most of his papers must have been locked up before our clueless captain could look through them. He has four wives: two unicorns, a zebra, and some rather odd-looking pony that the griffin believes to be a changeling, called Chrysalis.”

“A changeling? I thought they were just a myth, told to scare little ponies to bed,” the sultan’s nephew said, sounding rather surprised. “I never thought they were actually real.”

“Well, according to the griffin, they most certainly are real,” the spy said. “One unicorn, named Trixie, is from Equestria as well, but the other is from Spreign, judging from her accent. Her name is Maria.”

“Ah, this Spike fellow must be traveling around the world looking for wives to add to a herd,” Devrim said, cackling slightly. “Let me guess: the zebra is from north Africa?”

“Exactly,” his spy replied. “Out of the four, Asalah, that being her name, remains the only one who is not yet pregnant.”

“Ah, seems our dragon visitor has been awfully busy during his travels,” the sultan’s nephew said. “Tell me, did the griffin say anything... unusual to her family, concerning our prison’s guests?”

“Not terribly so, though she did mention the changeling seemed rather... unsettling,” the spy said. “She mentioned how at times, the changeling would close her eyes and mutter to herself, as if trying to cast a spell or something. It wouldn’t work, anyway: they are in the special cell, as pertaining to your cleverly-suggested orders.”

“Well, we have no idea to what extent a changeling’s abilities are, so it would be best if we kept an eye on her,” Devrim said softly. “Other than that... did the griffin seem trustworthy?”

“She’s not going to set them free by abusing the system; that much, I can tell,” the spy said. “She is far too invested to risk her career and the safety of her family to do such a thing. Her mother seems intent on the granddaughter, Eutropia, marrying at some point in the near future, but other than that... the trail turns cold.”

“Well, I am sure more information about these travelers will make itself known in time, but for the moment, we must turn our attention elsewhere,” Devrim said, glancing out the window. “Tell me, how goes my plan?”

“It is proceeding ahead of schedule, and in total secrecy,” the spy said in an almost gleeful tone. “However, your father’s death last year did throw things into a bit of a mess.”

“Yes, well, he didn’t know what we were planning, even though it revolved around him and myself,” Devrim said. His father had been a misguided soul: foolish, short-sighted, complacent in the empire’s peace and tranquility with its belligerent neighbors. But he had been his father, a stallion whom he loved very dearly, and even though Devrim’s plans were better off without him, it had still been a deep wound to have lost him to the plague that had swept through that small portion of the city the year before. “With my uncle not having any heirs as of yet, and my own line secure enough for my rise, all we need to do is... push things in the right direction, and I shall become sultan.”

“Of course, your highness,” the spy said. “And with you at the reigns, the world will witness our ascension to new realms of power and glory.”

“Indeed it will, my faithful spy,” Devrim said, his smile wicked and utterly devilish as the two chuckled in unison. “Indeed it will.”

Meanwhile...

Deep within the bowls of the Changeling’s fortress capital city, a long-sealed section of the catacombs was beginning to stir with life. During times of war, any and all changelings could join and serve in the armed forces. However, when the queen herself was threatened, a special section of the military was bred with certain talents instilled into their very flesh.

The Censcorpions were the most feared forces the changelings could ever put to battle. Taller, stronger, faster than any changeling, they were bred for two things: battle and magic. In these there were few equals in the entire world, and fewer still had ever faced them. But the price of their existence was that they could only serve for a short period of time, a few weeks at the most, and then they would have to rest deep within the bowels of the queen’s capital city. To keep them up to date, they were connected to organic tubes that imparted all new information that could help them in a future battle. Tactics, spell types, coordinating maneuvers: it was instilled into them, even though their own minds had long since become one large collective mind.

However, something had been happening to them over the past few months that no changeling other than Chrysalis could have expected. The mingling of dragon and changeling blood in her womb had created new life, life unseen before by the world. As such, Spike’s innate dragon properties had begun to be passed on to the rest of the changeling species, something none of them could have foreseen at the time. It was slow and gradual for the species as a whole, usually being present in newer foals being birthed every day, but for the Censcorpions, it was different entirely. These creatures, for lack of a better word, were mentally connected to the well-being and mind of the queen, and only awoke when she gave the order. Due to their deep and innate connection, the mingling of their queen’s blood with that of a dragon had brought forth within them a change that was quick and frightening, even to other changelings.

As such, when they emerged from the catacombs deep within the fortress, many changelings fled in fear, hiding as they passed by; not a single one tried to stop their advance towards the surface. Upon reaching the surface and spreading their forked insect wings, the large group of Censcorpions began flapping. Like a thunderstorm rumbling across the plains, the beating of their wings echoed across the lands, sending chills up the spines of any creature unfortunate enough to be able to hear and understand what it meant.

As one solid mass, the ensemble of nightmarish creatures rose into the air and flew off, heading in a straight line for where their queen was imprisoned. It would be some time before they arrived, but when they did, all of Istanbul would learn a very powerful, and painful, lesson.

It is not wise to anger a changeling queen; it is downright stupid to do so when she is carrying a foal.

Meanwhile...

Chrysalis opened her eyes, only to find it was nighttime in Istanbul, and by the light of the dim torches in the prison, she could see Spike watching her carefully. The others had fallen asleep, but Spike must have known something was off.

“Chrysalis, just what were you up to?” the dragon asked from where he was laying, propped up on one arm on the admittedly not-uncomfortable cots they had been given to sleep on.

“Contacting some of my species to come rescue us,” she said simply.

Spike blinked a few times. “You can do that? Why haven’t you used it before? That sure would have come in handy several times on this trip, you know!” He could have named several occasions when such a thing would have saved them a lot of trouble: in the baron’s fortress in Prance, out in the Samarea Desert, off the coasts of East Africa when those pirates attacked...

“Spike, we’re thousands of miles from home: even the fastest pegasus wouldn’t reach us for a few days, and the ones I summoned are not the fastest things with wings,” the changeling queen said softly, laying on her side as she readjusted the pillow that the others had given her.

“Chrysalis, are the changelings going to war with the Ottomare Empire?” Spike asked softly. It was barely a question: almost an accusation, if he were capable of actually feeling accusatory towards her anymore. He needed to know, since if that was the case, he’d have to prepare for the worst. There was no telling how bad things could get if Chrysalis decided her species was going to war with an empire half a world away that was known for incredible brutality both on and off the battlefield.

“No, my kind are not going to war with the beings of Istanbul and the lands they control,” the mare muttered as she began to fall asleep. Awakening and summoning her most loyal servants from half a world away had taken its toll on her remaining energy reserves. “They are simply going to...help us escape.”

As her eyes closed, Spike lay back down on his cot, his mind jumbled with thoughts even as his own eyes began to close from exhaustion. That powder... whatever had been in that smoky substance that had subdued him before, it had done something to his internal dragon systems. He felt... sleepy, far more often, and his energy just didn’t seem up to par with what it had been. Would he continue to feel like this, or worse, would it continue to increase in severity?

He’d ask that guard captain as soon as he could. Right now, he needed to try and find a way to escape. But how to escape a cell impervious to all forms of magic, especially with four mares, three of them pregnant, in tow?

His mind was not at ease as he slept, the darkness of the night enshrouding the entire city in a thick blanket. Little did Spike and the rest of the city, save for a few malicious individuals, know just how bad things would get.

Author's Notes:

Well, published this technically on my birthday, so yay for me! 22 years old, and still kicking!

...man, I still have a long way to go. XD

A little bit of information for the confused among you: the term "Censcorpions" is an played off the words Centurion and Scorpion. Why? Because why not? Roman terms and arachnids combine to form awesomeness!

Just like Ultron, or maybe Bruticus.