– Fate likes Hooded Strangers / Oma lehmä ojassa –
You trot towards Town Hall the next night, with the tattered cloak you’d been gifted wrapped around yourself. It was nippy that night, and the cloak really was quite warm for something that had more holes than swiss cheese. You see no one as you approach, but notice a light dancing on the other side of the building. Upon inspection, you find a small campfire at the base of the steps, and Shyft, in a new but still ragged-looking cloak, gently fanning the flames. You begin questioning the legality of this when the cloaked pony notices you standing there.
“Haha, you’ve returned! You’re just in time, too, as I’ve gotten us a small fire going. Perfect for these cold nights, eh? Not a problem for you, surely, wearing that fine old cloak, hee hee! Ah, but I digress. Come friend, join me...did you bring those sticks?”
You pull out a small bundle of twigs and small broken branches that you’d gathered earlier that day and show them to Shyft, who sagely nods his head.
“Good, good! Heh. Now, take those sticks and place them in the ground around the edge of the fire, would you? Oh, and be sure that they’re upright! Last time somepony didn’t, it was this griffon, and...well, it’s hard to fly when all your feathers turn into leaves, hehehe! Or...maybe he was already like that? Bah, no matter. Just be sure they’re upright, to be on the safe side!”
You do as he asks, making absolutely sure that the sticks are as upright as possible after that comment. Once finished, Shyft has you take a seat while he rummages under his cloak. You lean over in an attempt to see what all he’s hiding under there, especially when a few bats suddenly fly out from its dark folds. The old pony grumbles something incoherent, then lifts out a small sack and closes his cloak up again.
“Here we are, just what the ol’ storyteller ordered. Another night, another chapter in our tale! Well my friend, no time like the present to go back into the past, eh? Hee hee!” Shyft lifts up the bag suddenly, appearing as though he might throw it at you, but then he pauses and lowers it again. “Oh, ah, one more thing...did you happen to bring any cauliflower?”
You shake your head, the thought having slipped your mind. “No? Hurm, pity. ‘Tis no matter; onwards!” Shyft throws the sack into the fire, which erupts into a blazing white pillar that consumes you both.
(Shyft narrates)
A day and night have passed since we left the Quiet One, who has taken off towards Canterlot to carry out his vengeance. Canterlot was quite the distance, however, and even flying by night required a few stops for rest. In an area not far from Canterlot, nowadays deep in what is known as Whitetail Woods, he had set up a small camp for himself, a final stop before reaching his destination. Here, however, Fate played its next card.
As he slept through the day, the Quiet One received a visitor to his camp. Not intentionally, no; you see, when out hunting he had been taught how to make a concealable nest in the branches of a tree, near invisible to an untrained eye. But somewhere in the early evening he awoke to the sound of movement below, the shift of hooves against grass and the soft crackling of a fire.
It was starting to grow dark, the sun lowering below the horizon as day turned to night. Peeking out, he saw a hooded figure sat alone below him, their shadow cast high against the tree trunk. Curiosity and suspicion took hold, and with the silence of darkness he crept out, moving across the trees behind the figure, lower and lower until touching upon the grass. Nothing seemed to move but the light of the flames, not even the crickets chirped in that moment, but then the figure spoke.
“Goodness, you’re quite good at sneaking around, aren’t you?”
As they glanced back in his direction, he could see the unicorn’s horn silhouetted by the fire. “No need for that now,” they calmly spoke in an strong male’s voice, “why don’t you join me? I’m far too tired for a fight, presently.”
Silence. The Quiet One had lost the advantage of surprise, and while he’d heard of unicorns and their magical powers, it was his first time encountering one. A fight was out of the question; he could still take to the tree, grab his things and vanish into the darkening sky, but the hooded one’s invitation struck him as curious. And so he approached, cautiously sitting across the fire from the stranger. In the firelight he noticed even his thestral eyes could not peer past the stranger’s hood, their face shrouded in a black thicker than night itself.
“Who I am is no matter, friend, as we are but strangers passing in the night,” the stranger remarked, having noticed the peering eyes. “But you are of great interest. Your kind don’t typically pass through these woods, so close to Alliance territory, and I know better than to think you are lost.”
The Quiet One did not speak, but this did not matter. The stranger continued.
“A journey, then. You seek something. But what, I wonder? What could possibly interest one of your kind in a place where they are hardly welcomed?”
Still silence. The stranger chuckled, unphased. Reaching into a saddlebag sitting to his side, he produced a corked flagon, the scent of wine drifting through the air as he removed the cork and drank. As he did, the thestral saw something red glint from the opened bag, a gem of sorts, but then the flagon was returned and the item obscured.
“Your silence cannot hide intent, batpony,” informed the stranger, “as I'm afraid your eyes betray you. I’ve seen that look many times, in many kinds of eyes. It looks no different whether you're rich, poor, pony, griffon, or even dragon. Anger burns within you, a hatred for something or someone, held captive until it is unleashed upon your enemy. You travel with Death as your companion, but It is not your ally.” Without waiting for a reply the stranger stood, his height taller than an average pony, and from beneath the hood shined piercing eyes illuminated by the fire. The thestral jumped back, but all that came was the stranger’s voice, louder and dominating. “You may succeed in your goal, but you will not survive either way. Fury alone will not help you, but I can. I can grant you your dark wish. In return, I only require that you answer to my call when the time comes. You must swear to it. Swear now, thestral, and our contract is made.”
For a moment they stood there separated by the fire, two shadows in the night. For the first time since he was young, the Quiet One felt uncertainty in his chosen path. He did not trust this unicorn, but if they truly could see through him so easily, he would rather them be ally than enemy.
And so, the Quiet One spoke.
“I swear.”
He did not see the stranger’s horn glowing.