Welcome to Tartarus

[Manehatten Guard]

Nov 16
2:00 PM

The wagons rolled along the bumpy path, along the long winding road. It's destination, is a place seldom spoke of, and one of the Tsars greatest secrets. Deep within the mountain ranges in Equestria, lay Tartarus. A hellish camp, where prisoners of war worked along with Political Prisoners, and an assortment of the worse of the worse, in Equestria and the Griffons Kingdoms. In the wagons lay the newest batch of unlucky folk. Political prisoners. Usually ones who had done nothing wrong than pissing off the wrong griffons. It soon approached the one and only entrance to the abhorrent camp. The prisoners were ordered out of the wagons and to line up in front of the gate. Most were smug, confident that it was a mistake, or escaping would be easily achieved with the friends they had. Most didn't realize how terrible their situation would become.

[Tisis Antony]

The caravan pulled in, and Augustus remained silent. He watched the ponies and griffons pile out from the wagon, and joined them. A furious swelling had taken up root in his chest, an emotion unfitting of a Praetor.

The Praetor mentally quelled all emotions. He'd need to be lucid for the times to come. The labor camp, Tartarus, was a secret, but not a secret to those who dealt in such things. He knew its reputation; some of the OGI had helped to design it, and it was indeed a magnificent construction.

The throbbing wound across his face kept drawing him from his thoughts, and into the fundamental necessities of his vessel. It had begun to scab up, albeit poorly, though he speculated that the eye would remain useless. The left eye had been cleaved in the same blow that had taken half of his face off- it was a lucky thing he hadn't died from infection.

But back to the gravity of things occurring. Augustus directed his attention back forwards, anticipating some sort of greeting party.

[Manehatten Guard]

O The gates opened to reveal a dark yellow Griffon. He was of an average height and stature, but he walked with the air of a person of importance. He smirked, as if this was the highlight of the day.

"Welcome to Tartarus!" He said, with a loud booming voice. "I expect you've realized the seriousness of the situation. However, I like to provide a demonstration, to prove this isn't a joke." He said with a chuckle. He pa talon up, and a white speckled griffon was brought for
"No! No please, stop!" Said the speckled griffon, and began shouting, pleading for his life. He prayed to the Demons of Tartarus. He tried break free the griffons holding him but it was futile. His head was placed on a block.

The yellow-ish griffon nodded to a griffon guard next to him. He handed him a basic woodcutting axe. "Folks, I am Hasher. And this-" he motioned to the axe. "Is Hilda." He said, and some chuckled. They were not reprimanded, but what was to come would silence them.

He walked up to griffon whose head was on the chopping block quite literally. Without hesitation, save for a smile. He swung the axe, hitting the griffon in the neck. He didn't cleave it off however. That's a mistake many think about necks. There was tons of tissue and vertebra were the toughest of bones. Aertial blood began spurting out and a scream could be heard from poor griffon. He pulled out his axe with a sucking noise, and swung again harder. This time the griffon fell silent. Flesh was hanging off the side, while blood continued to spurt out in pumps. Hasher swung a final time, and the head came off. The body fell limp, tossed aside by the guards. Blood soon piling around the body, mixed with feathers and flesh, skimming the surface.

Hasher took the head, which appeared to be still breathing, despite no lungs. "And this-" he motioned to the facility behind him. "Is Tartarus." And tossed the head far off into the road. "He was a griffon that wasn't filling his coal quota." He said, still smiling like a mad griffon. Which, in retrospect was true.

[Tisis Antony]

The Praetor had to stifle a little giggle. The body was jumping around like a fish, a bemusing prospect to Augustus. The smiling Griffon, now he had a sense of humor. Always good to see the brighter side.

The Praetor mentally began keeping tabs of everything:
-Average build yellowy Griffon = Hasher
-Hasher is most definitely psychotic, or at the very least sadistic
-Coal Quotas. That meant pickaxes and tools
-It also meant that the site possessed coal mines. Perhaps underground coal mines.

The list was rather immature, but Augustus hoped to expand it in due times. He was a pragmatic Griffon, systematically so. Seeing nothing to respond to, Augustus decided to wait until he was prompted with a task.

[Manehatten Guard]

The group of griffons had grown quiet as the laughing stopped the moment chopping began. Most were in fact frightened by the sudden gruesomeness. Hasher smiled. "Im your warden. And you will the next griffon on the chopping block, if you do not obey." His smile turned into a frown as he turned serious. However he soon regained his smiling attitude. "I hear you griffons are political prisoners. Usually that means that you just pissed off the wrong griffon. Some here probably do hate the Tsar or Commander Feliks. Personally I like the two. They lent me this amazing camp for you griffons to work in. And if that ain't nice,I don't know what is." He paused for a moment, for dramatic effect. " However, I have to admit. Your a tad smarter then the dung heaps that come in here. So, I have a simple solution." And motioned to the guards to step forward. "Im sure most of you have seen the collars Slavers put on their stock? Well don't worry. Those aren't these kinds of collars. Too expensive for you low life's. These collars are restriction collars. Bound to certain masters, with certain restrictions. Right now the collars are bound to me. And no other griffon but myself can remove them." He said and waited for the entire group to be shackled.

As soon as everyone in the group had collars, he started again. "These are bound to my voice. So when I say a rule, they will add it to a list of things it will keep track of you doing. For example. You are not allowed to help any person in this camp escape. Now if try such a feat, you will be killed. Now let's see..." He said pulling out a book. "You are not allowed to steal coal from the mines. You are not allowed to escape through the mines. You are not allowed to hide in the mines. You will do your best to survive. You will not Fly. You will not escape..." And chuckled. "That last one was more of a statement. This place is inescapable." He said, not elaborating. "The collars are also personally encoded. For another example..." He walked up to the ex-praetor, and said "Augustus will not eat for the next three days." He said with a smirk. "And its a shame really. The chefs prepared a gruel for the next 12 months, but for the next 3 days everyone's getting steak. It's a shame you'll miss out." He said and walked away. "Take care to heed these rules. Lest the collars activate. You'll be dead in less than a second of you don't." He said. He turned back, seemingly done. However he turned around once. "Oh....and have a nice day." He said with a cackle as he left the group to be herded into their cells.

[Tisis Antony]

The Praetors head buzzed with irritation. He had hoped that being sent here was a hiccup, a dozy. One of the many random grabs that Feliks was known for. But that Griffon had known him by name. Which meant implications.

If the camp knew who he was, it meant that he was here for a reason. The Prudentate would not have him sent here. The rumors, then must be true. A purge had occurred in his absence. Whether this was good luck or bad luck- nein, it was both. Atrociously good luck.

The collar felt heavy and foreign- it slipped right into the position that the old Prudentatae's scarf had. He made mental note of the rules, and begin a new, refined list of things to keep track of.

-Average build yellowy Griffon = Hasher
-Hasher is most definitely psychotic, or at the very least sadistic
-Coal Quotas. That meant pickaxes and tools
-It also meant that the site possessed coal mines. Perhaps underground coal mines.
-They know who I am, no eating for three days.
-The collar is cued to Hasher's voice. Exploitable.
-The collar will kill(?) at the following promptings:

--I help someone escape
--I steal coal
--I try to escape period
--I try to fly
--I cease trying to survive fully


The collar seemed fishy, like it were some parlour trick someone would trump up to trick others. Unlike the beheading, the warden hadn't seen it fit to demonstrate the collars operations. Augustus wanted to test how the collars worked at the nearest possible opportunity.

He surmised that under hard work conditions and without nutrition, he would most certainly perish. He needed to get to work on the testing immediately.

He followed the group as they were herded into the cell, silent in contemplation.

[Manehatten Guard]

Augustus was led to a cell with an old griffon laying on the floor. He had gray feathers in his brown coat, and his eyes had a milky sheen. He looked up when he heard the sounds of another enter his cell. He laid still until the cell door closed. "Suppose your a young griffon, who pissed off the wrong griffon, or did something extremely devilish." He said, with an old voice, calmly. It sounded like he'd been through a lot of shit in his time.

[Tisis Antony]

The Praetor felt compelled to say something witty but stifled it before it became a conception. He didn't know this Griffon; in fact, he didn't know anything about the status quo of the prison. The conversation was either idle, or it was an attempt to fish for information. Perhaps both. He decided to play honesty, since it was often the most versatile of cards.

"I am high level staff of the OGI. I do believe I may have ruffled someones feathers, judging by the provincial treatment I am receiving. And what of you? You seem a pleasant enough face."

[Manehatten Guard]

The griffon chuckled. "I wouldn't know. Been blind for the last 10 year's. And you may have been high level at some point. But here, you're in charge of nothing. Especially, if your here. This is where griffons are sent if they don't want to be seen from. And I'm sorry to say, that will most likely hold true for you as well." He said. His demeanor spoke the truth. "Though I suppose your situation could be worse. You could have been bunked with José. That would have been sad indeed. Judging by your speech, you sound like a political prisoner." He said, stating the obvious.

[Tisis Antony]

The Praetor checks his space while he is talking to the Griffon.

"I suppose politics may be the right word." Changing topics abruptly, he brought the conversation to the fore of his questions. "What of these collars we have on. Are they truly lethal?"

(((Detailed description of what the Praetor sees in the room pls)))

[Manehatten Guard]

The room had 2 cots. One was fresher looking and the other was moldy, but still sleepable. There was a rusty bucket supposedly the toilet. The only blanket in the room was laid over the older griffon. He still 'stared' at Augustus."Yes.Usually, they emit a buzzing noise before committing the act. I wouldn't try testing whatever rules he set forth." He said, with a talon in a dismissively gesture.

[Tisis Antony]

The room disgusted the Praetor, well, at least the sanitary conditions did. Never one to shy from prying, the Praetor asked more questions. "What is to be expected of me? I understand there will be... coal mining? Is this true?"

[Manehatten Guard]

"Indeed. And you will be expected to meet a quota. Since your probably not use to labor, you'll earn a few blisters. At least a cartful of coal by the end tomorrow." He said. "However for the rest of today, you are allowed to rest. Unless you are picked on by Hasher." The old griffon, shivering slightly.

[Tisis Antony]

Basic cordiality demanded that the Praetor make small talk, but he found himself unable to think of many subjects befitting their current setting.

He had found that talking about oneself sometimes put others at ease. "I can see by that blanket that you are settled in here. Are these arrangements permanent? Is the... better bed yours?"

As he spoke, he discretely began ruffling his feathers, loosening small capsules that had been buried deep in the roots. He could retrieve these through preening, and planned to do so at the first possible opportunity.

[Manehatten Guard]

The old man chuckled and coughed. "Cell mates for life. That's a motto here. And the fresh bed was brought in for you. Mine has to much substance on it, without getting me sick." He said still speaking calmly. "What is your name, Stranger?"

[Tisis Antony]

A name... The Praetor didn't have a name. Augustus and Praetor were both titles of his position. But he had used Augustus as a name before, when asked.

"My name is August." He began settling into the bunk that had been assigned to him. "What is your name, if you don't mind me asking?"

[Manehatten Guard]

The griffon chuckled followed by a series of coughs. "Had you asked the last few lads, they would have said 'Old Griffbutt' but my given name is Baskan. And its one I'm rather fond of." He.said with a smile. "If I were you I'd get comfy. It'll be a while before dinner is served."

[Tisis Antony]

Rough-hewn but clean, the cot served its purpose well. Augustus topped the padding, resting his legs. He tried to lay his head down, but found the sensation too painful- his face had become tender again for some unfathomable reason.

He still managed to settle in. He dozed off in anticipation of the meal he had been guaranteed wouldn't come.

[Manehatten Guard]

*Several hours later*

The guards began banging on the cell. "Time to eat!" he said in a gruff voice. He opened up a small door, and revealed a plate with a well done steak, and two bowls of water. The older griffon didn't react to the noise as they set the meal down.

[Tisis Antony]

The bowl settled on the floor with a clank that cast dust into the air. The Praetor rose from the cot, stretching his wings to the bounds of the cell. The water was murky, and of dubious quality. It wetted his dry throat a bit and settled uneasily in his stomach. The drips on his beak were rapidly licked up.

The food smelt savory, so he distanced himself, returning back to his cot in the rear. Without anything to do, he tried to return to sleep but was unable. The cot was just stiff enough to force his waking attention, and the room just cold enough to nag at his senses.

He tried to make conversation. "Does the warden do things such as this often?"

[Manehatten Guard]

The old griffon plopped up, and slowly retrieved his dish. "No, I don't think I've ever had steak before...Someone must be getting special treatment from the warden." he said, with a chuckle, and began eating his food, along with the bowl of water.

[Tisis Antony]

A furrow formed on the Praetors brow. The thought got his head grinding, as the nascent form of an idea took shape. He knew a thing or two about prisons, and thought that perhaps he had a realistic expectation of what this meant. The reality could be that the incident was unrelated to himself, but it was too uncanny. Clearly the warden intended for him to be knowledgeable of these facts, in an effort to torment him.

Whilst the Praetor may have been a hardened advocate of discipline, he was only mortal. The gnawing pains of hunger ignited in him an ire towards this warden. The Praetor was not typically petty, but perhaps with he could afford it in this situation.

Prudentia, knowledge and patience. He was an infant in this camp, and he'd wait. He'd learn. In his brief lifetime on this plane of existence he'd undergone atrocities of the spirit and body that'd would even make him shiver if he was able to cognate them. It would take a little more than low morale to break him, he thought.

The infection in his eye had taken hold over night and was beginning to irritate him. He began looking around for bits of loose rag...

[Manehatten Guard]

The old griffon 'looked' to Augustus. "Why don't you eat your steak?Its likely the last one you'll get here." He said with a chuckle.

[Tisis Antony]

His hands found their way to a small rag that had been set aside on the railing of his cot, clean enough from the looks of it. "Hmmm? Oh, the steak. Sadly I am in the unfortunate proposition of forced starvation. I was given a command to not eat, and if as you say, the collars do kill, It'd turn out to be my last meal."

He begins looking around the room for something sharp or reflective. "Do you have a mirror, or perhaps a bucket of water?" His eyes settled on the Griffon's water dish. "Can I use that?"

[Manehatten Guard]

The griffon sat there a moment. Seemingly staring at thin air. He hands Augustus his bowl, shakily. "I have some good news and some bad news. The bad news, is if you are being picked on, by the warden, you aren't expected to make it through the week. The good news is, the gangs and rougher ponies and griffons won't mess with you." He said, grimly.

[Tisis Antony]

"Oh, that sounds certainly pleasant. I should know to expect nothing but the most gracious hospitality in this, the Tsar's establishment."

He found his reflection in the bowl, and angled his face best to get sight of his bad eye despite not being able to see from it. Luckily he always had very forward-sitting eyes for a Griffon, so he was able to see both eyes in the reflection.

The eye had gone completely white in the pupil, and when he prodded it with the talon he noticed that it was completely without sensation. He looked to the blind Griffon and chuckled a bit, wondering if he could somehow sense what he was about to do.

"This warden- you know much of him?"

[Manehatten Guard]

"This warden has followed me since incarceration. Not literally of course. I'm one of the few to survive his wrath. I also know guards named him Ray, since he is presumably the most colorful griffon here, and is yellow." The griffon paused a moment, and 'looked' to Augustus. "I can tell you how to survive his wrath if you wish. However, it will be a rough path, one a lesser griffon would not consider." He said, sadness in his voice. "If you succeed, you might just die from old age, if your lucky." He said winking, not saying a word more.

[Tisis Antony]

"Oh yes, do continue." The Praetor was listening, though preoccupied.

He reached into the dead-eye's socket with wiry talons, grasping the dead tissue as best he could. The eye had no sensation beyond a mild discomfort, so he endeavered to be as careful as possible with his time. He grasped around until he found what he was looking for, or at least, what he thought he was looking for- the ocular nerve.

His heart palpated a bit as he began thinking of what was to come. But he silenced this dread, and shoved any loathings he had to the side. A Praetor was above feebleness, or rather, was to aspire to that goal.

The eye, mostly dead, somewhat necrotic tissue, yielded easily as he severed the nerve and plucked it out its socket. Blood and pus came easily, and he daubed at the hollowed socket with the rag...

[Manehatten Guard]

Baskan heard the sounds, but ignored them. Best probably not to ask. He continued. "Lessons here are best learned from experience. I'd take your week of protection to study the different groups, and how you can avoid them. If you can steer clear of the gangs, your chances here increase, exponentially. And to survive this week, you must do whatever the warden says. If he is truly singling you outhe will not kill you, even if his actions would suggest otherwise. And do not beg for Death. Once you do, he'll be bored of you, and your life will be forfeight." He says this slowly and interrupted by the occasional cough or two.

[Tisis Antony]

The rag fit into his eye socket easily, and he secured it in by wrapping a strip of cloth around his head. He dropped the dead tissue into the latrine, lest he risk accidentally stepping on it.

A week... it was reasonable. He'd endured worse in his time as Praetor, despite his current situation. "Well, this sounds hopeful- I am an entertaining Griffon, if that is what's wanted of me."

"Now, these gangs- what of them, and who are they? Are they ruffians, or something more... organized?"

[Manehatten Guard]

The old griffon waved a talon. "Somewhat organized. They can be a big force, and deadly even. Most would kill or rape without a thought, giving them a sense of power in a situation they have very little control. If they kill or rape too many, the warden just affixes another command onto them. He rarely cares how the griffons or ponies act. So long as they meet their quota. If you can prove your tough in their eyes, they won't mess with you too much." He said, hoping to elaborate the situation.

[Tisis Antony]

Wit was falling short for the Praetor. He was running out of ways of sarcastically saying how much he loathed his current situation. But a Praetor's got obligations, and part of those explicitly states that they must constantly use dry wit to express their disenchantment with all prospects. It was a bit crude, he thought, but hell, it did make the job somewhat more bearable.

"They sound like quite the partying bunch," he said, dryly. The old Griffon had emparted all the information the Praetor cared for at that moment, so he decided to busy himself. But with what? Truly, the Praetor never found himself without anything that needed urgent doing, and this one low point in his miserable existence had not only taken away his freedom, but also his work ethic. They intended to make a layabout of him.

He looked around the room, trying to find something to do...

(((Anything to do in the room?)))

[Manehatten Guard]

There is nothing to do in the room. There appears to be an inscription on the wall, saying 'Leave this place at once!' And a few rocks left over from the years. The old griffon quickly falls asleep with the silence. Soon he can be heard snoring lightly.

[Tisis Antony]

The Praetor climbed into his tiny bunk and decided to make do with rest. Before he knew it he was out cold, the combined stresses of his day's happenings collapsing on him like a wall.

The room went dark. He begun to slumber.

[Manehatten Guard]

*The next day*
6 am

"Alright maggot get up!" He said, with a sneer. He banged on the door hard, waiting for the inmate to get up. He was a buff griffon. He didn't care much for being around the inmates.

[Tisis Antony]

The Praetor's slumber broke with a snap, the banging door sending him sprawling from his bunk onto the floor. His head was foggy, a blur of shouts and indoctrinations mingling about like paint bucket unstirred.

His thoughts bolted to lucidity and he stood up, stretching his length. He approached the door, anticipating some sort of command.

[Manehatten Guard]

The griffon opened the door. "Follow me." He said gruffly. He was going to show Tisis his tunnel. He showed Tisis to a tunnel with rail and cart. "This is your tunnel. You will produce at least one carts worth a day of coal, or suffer the consequences. Once you fill up you cart, you can head to the courtyard till lunch, by which time you will be back in your cell. Makin myself clear?" He asks, in a rough voice.

[Tisis Antony]

A cart was no laughing matter, but the Praetor was in hardly any condition to disagree. He said yes with an energy barely mustered from the pits of contempt.

"And I presume there are tools in the shaft?"

[Manehatten Guard]

The griffon growls and says "What do you think??" He points to the cart which has tools in the bottom, and pushes the griffon towards the cart. "Get to work ingrate!"

The tunnel was dimly lit, by spheres, which appeared magical in origin, and more importantly, we're non-flammable. They descended into the pit, which appearded to descend for quite some time. The tools included a pickaxe, with some enchantment on it. A few other tools, basic for mining, was also in the cart.

[Tisis Antony]

(((Oh mai, enchanted pickaxe? I suspect there's an enchanting table and some bookshelves nearby too!)))

As the Praetor descended its length he gradually realized on of the few difficulties his lone eye presented to him. His depth perception was greatly impaired, or so it would seem with the amount of times he stumbled on some rock or innocuous crevice that lingered on the stoney floors.

Finally, he found what he thought was an unclaimed vain of coal. It looked rather darkish, so he thought it was coal, but he sincerely couldn't tell. He made a feeble swing at the vein, realizing for the first time just how weak he had become.

After a few such swings he finally managed to liberate a small sum of coal, and place it in what he thought was the appropriate bin...

[Manehatten Guard]

The dark stone was indeed coal. Luckily he had stumbled into the previous owners coal deposit, which would provide at least a cartful of coal. Also next to this vein was a miners helmet though unlit , it's source seemingly magical. Fire in a coal mine would be rather silly.

[Tisis Antony]

The praetor saw this, and took advantage of the opportunity it gave him. He placed the helmet on and crawled into the tiny reaches of the mine, scraping off chunks of coal with the pick. "This isn't so bad-" he murmered to himself, waist deep into a vein.

[Manehatten Guard]

A slight temor could be heard, but it sounded far off. Some rocks came loose, however, the tunnel did not fall. It could be suspected that someone elses cave was not as secure, and had collapsed. A very real threat down there.

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