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// Chapter 2 The Last Stop 
// Story: The Messenger 
// by Mindhawk 
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You both sit at the far corner of the establishment, in a booth lit by a single candle light, shrouded in secrecy and darkness, unbeknownst to which you’re completely clueless. You bring the glass to your lips in unison, the cold bands of condensation running down your fingers, taking a healthy sip of the amber swill. As you both take your seats, the stranger finally decides to talk, only after sipping his ice cold beer mind you. 

“Now, It brings me great pleasure that you so willingly agreed to accompany me on this little quest of mine” he says with a smirk.

Without meaning to sound rude, you place your glass on the table, and ask “Listen, sir, I don’t mean to bring your hopes up, but I am a little bit lost in what exactly you are trying to tell me. What quest? Why are we here?” You stop to give yourself a very inquisitive look, “in truth I’m a little bit worried about why I followed you so willingly”, bringing the beverage back to your lips to quench your dried out throat. You’re not sure as to why, but something tells you that what this old fellow is trying to say, may just make you walk straight out of the pub.

“Well, I suppose the question as to what I am talking about is the only one that matters, but I assure you, all your worries will be put to rest in  the next few minutes Mr Knightley”.

Did he just use your surname? “I beg your pardon?”
Chuckling under his breath “You haven’t changed since the first day we met Logan Knightley”, taking a large swig of his ale, and shorty starting to rummage through his bag, to pull out a pocket handkerchief, wiping his beard of the spilled drink.
Now only one question seems to escape your lips, unfortunately you make it sound as if you’re accusing him of committing some act of criminal activity “Ok, this is just getting ridiculous now, do we know each other? How do you know my name, and how did you know that I’d be in that field tonight?”

“Oh I know quite a lot about you Mr Knightley, for you see, our brief encounter was not as random as you might have expected.

“You may not remember I belong to the title, but I know you have heard of my name before, I am Starswirl, and Starswirl is by how I am known throughout these hills”.

It just clicked in your mind. For as luck had it, you have indeed heard of this man’s name before, yet truly never knew that he in fact fitted to it. Your eyes widen, as the gears in your head shift into motion, pulling out any and all information on the man known as Starswirl.
“Wait, not Starswirl the bearded? The man who came every winters end to warm the people’s hearts with such excellent stories of lands filled with magic and adventure?”

You extend your hand to take his, in order to shake it. You feel guilty that this had not dawned upon you any sooner. The stories he would tell you all when you were much younger, would fascinate and bewilder. He spoke of such powerful beings that they could move both the sun and the moon. Of dragons, gryphons, Minotaur’s, great kingdoms made of jewels and rare crystals. Of folk who were akin to a peaceful way of life. Of great sorcery, witchcraft, and in the rarest of cases, great evil beings who were defeated by a chosen few, who were deemed the bravest in all the land. These would resonate in your young life for a great many years to come, in a time where the world seemed simpler, and not so filled with the despairs and sorrows that would occupy your younger life in years to come.

“I remember those when I was just a young boy. My apologies Starswirl, I had no idea you would still be around” you spoke before you thought of what you were about to say, making it sound as if he wouldn’t be around long enough for you to ever speak to him again.

He couldn’t help but shift in unease, his smirk turning into an annoyed frown “And where else would I be might I ask?” leaning in to see how you would climb out of the metaphorical pit you seemed to have dug yourself into. Yet, you say nothing, just allow your eyes to dart across the bar, hoping that the awkward moment would soon pass, and that the topic of conversation may be changed for the better.

“Well, I’m glad to know that you do remember me for something, however vague your memories may have become” He sits back, giving you a sense of ease that he’s not holding what you just said accountable towards any further transgressions. “Still, I do remember a young boy, who would question me about all those stories, on whether the town’s people survived, what ever happened to such and such, if the evil could ever be vanquished. But, I never told if they truly lived happily ever after. Because the truth of the matter is, I don’t know if they ever did” your head cocks to the side, examining as his eyes begin to droop idly, and a deep look of sadness forms from where his cheerful grin used to be.

Now, your first assumption at the beginning of this encounter, was that maybe the bearded traveller had already a few too many to drink, and just wanted to talk to someone, anyone who would listen to his stories. But as much as you listened, you find out that this may not in fact be the whole case. It seems as if he’s harbouring a deep sadness behind all his quirky mannerisms, secreted inside by all his cheerful quotes and reminiscences of celebrations passed. 
You feel guiltier than ever now, sensing that if this were all true, then you are the only one he felt he could really talk to. In a sense, you feel slightly humbled to the fact that such an individual could feel comfortable to talk to you in such a way. To make him feel more relaxed, you decide to question him about the stories of old.

“You know, out of all the tales you recounted, I think the one that stuck with me the most was of the lord of chaos discord, and that the skies rained a chocolate produce, the lands ran on hinge in the multi coloured sky, and all the creatures of the land reverted to a shadow of their former selves. And when the two immortal princesses rose up to vanquish the lord of darkness, his name would be forever etched into the stone of which he would be locked away for all eternity”. You see his eyes widen in delight, that you remember this in such specific detail, in fact almost in sync to how he told it all those years ago.
“Ah yes, the tale of Discord, the lord of Chaos. A truly unruly individual, I do remember so myself. It occurred to me that you didn’t seem to recall any tale of love or friendship”, he looks bewildered, silently asking you why you didn’t talk about any story that didn’t involve any more peaceful or prosperous situation.

He sits forward “I’m curious Mr Knightley, why it that you’re fondest story is of one of turmoil, and an ensuing great battle?”
You sit up straight, placing both hands on the table in front of you, your half empty glass to your left hand, and both hands clasped in one another, in order to get comfortable, and yet feel more formal towards the wise old man.
You take a deep breath, pausing for a slight moment, and finally answer Starswirl the bearded.

“Well” you say, “I suppose that out of all your stories, they were mainly about quiet societies, with not much going on in between the good people’s lives outside of their daily routines. So in a way, slightly reminiscent to my own. So, whenever there was cause to rise up to a challenge, the need to take a stand to do what’s right, then it just makes that peace worth fighting for. I remember the stories of battles, because underneath all the hurt, the ugliness of hate and war, there was a glimmer of hope. A reason to continue fighting. For the freedom to maintain that tranquil life, to hold onto what was most precious to those in those stories? Those tales stuck with me, because in the end, they just proved that what good there is in the world, no matter how small it is, it is worth fighting for”. 

The old man can’t help but crack a slight smile, as so do you. But his smile seems more meaningful than your own, sighing a breath of relief looking into your honest words, as if they came straight from your heart, and they put all his worries to rest. 
He sits up, both arms going into his satchel bag which is propped up on the seat next to him. From it, he pulls out a scroll, wrapped in a purple ribbon, a golden waxed crest pressed into it, revealing a sun symbol in its centre. His right hand, wrapped in a night sky coloured appendage, remains atop of the scroll, pressed lightly the parchment. You eye it curiously, the crest is one of the likes you’ve never seen with your own eyes before. It looks close to the seals which were used in ancient Britain, like it belonged to a shield of some famous knight in shining armour.  Your eyes dart to the scroll, then back into the bearded man’s face.

“I feel as if you’ve now earned the right to know why I’ve summoned you here Mr Knightley”. 

Earned the right? What did you do to show that you didn’t deserve to know? 
Your eyes draw back to their original state, from that of the inquisitive approach they gave not too long ago “I am curious as to what this has all been leading up to, I’m not going to lie to you”.
“Those stories I told you, all that magic and adventure, he trails off for a slight moment,
“What if I was to tell you that they all came to be?”

Your face remains motionless, as if to question every syllable that just passed his lips, but you humour him “They. All. Came. To. Be. As in, they all really happened?”

He notices what you’re thinking, as if he is reading your mind “Now, before you judge on what I had just told you, you must enter into this with a very open mind, and please, do not think that these words are of a folly old man, because they are in fact all completely true”.

“What do you mean completely true?”

“Never mind that right now, I want you to tell me you solemnly swear that you will heed every word I say, as if they would be my last”.

This is starting to get stranger by the minute, something you didn’t quite expect to happen was to be put on the edge of your seat by the old travellers’ tales. His eyes are darting around the room now, the pub is still bustling with people, but not filled to the doors with loud noises, but that of lowered conversations of the patrons consuming their liquid refreshments.
His voice lowered, he leans in towards the table’s flat surface, and practically whispers the next few phrases, where as you lean closer, as to fully hear what he has to say.

“There is a darkness brewing Mr Knightley, an ancient evil is awakening from its slumber. All around us, its presence can be heard and seen, even tasted on the very tip of your tongue, like a cloud of ash which is slowly washing over these lands from a toxic fire”, he looks down towards the note, then back to you, “I called you here tonight, because I need your help”.

“My help? What darkness? Who’s returning?”

He shushes up, only to quickly glance around so as to know no one is watching us, yet he shivers as if someone had just opened up a door to a brisk winter wind, “I’m leaving town tonight, upon heeding this important message from the one known as princess Celestia”.

“Wait, The Princess? Celestia? Of the stories you used to convey? She is real? How?”

“There is much you are going to find out about in the next few days Mr Knightley, a lot of it will seem impossible at first, frightening even, but with a great amount of courage, and no small part of charm, it will all become clearer over time”.

You’re intrigued as to the realisation, that who you once thought of as just a character from a few stories, may in fact be real. But how can she be? It was told that she was so powerful, that over thousands of years, she controlled the sun and the moon in the sky, is it even possible for someone, or something to be able to have that much power? The thought of someone being that strong now sends a shiver down your spine.

“And where do you intend to go to with this information?”

“There lies a hidden portal in the old forest, one which cannot be found, except for those who already know where it lies. The path is old now, but still strong enough to sustain a safe route, as to be able to allow someone to pass through without any secondary effects”.

“Secondary effects?”

“Why yes. You see, certain portals require a great amount of magical energy to be kept open, and sometimes, these gateways can give off a certain aura which can be passed onto another who would be journeying through its doors. 
He takes another sip of his beer, almost finishing it, to the point where he may need another round, so you keep up, taking in as much as you can without belching.

Continuing from where he left off, “Now, if this gateway does however give off a certain magic, it could have dire consequences on the traveller who is venturing through it, it may even send them to a dark abyss, or maybe even to a whole new land, even change their physical attributes, no one really can say, since no one has ever tested this theory out”. 

“Well, Sir, this is all very interesting, but I still fail to see what this has to do with me”.

Exasperated, you try not to show the storyteller that you’re starting to grow impatient “By what you have told me up until this point, it seems as if there isn’t much that I can do other than slow you down, and if what you’re making out to be a dire situation is true, then you really can’t afford to be wasting any time by bringing my useless self along”.

“I understand your frustration, but you must know I wouldn’t have gone on this journey, had it not been with someone I have utter faith in. I chose you because you have proven to me that you can be both loyal and brave, by that answer you gave me. And now, I ask of you to prove to me, that you weren’t just saying all that because you felt sorry for a lonely old story teller”.
He knew what you were thinking at the time, how did he do that? Your eyes return to their shocked state, widened by what appears to be a mind reader sitting opposite you.

Before you can ask anything further, he stops, looking as if something has immediately caught his attention. The sound of a glass falling and smashing on the ground can be heard from outside, and then, just like that, the room goes dark, the candles blown out by a door suddenly opening. His gaze darts back to you, shuffling the scroll back into his satchel, remaining very silent, yet in a panicking way, whispers to you the following chilling words.

“They are here…..”