Feyspeak

by WritingSpirit

Soleus

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"Father?"

"Wha, who's—?! Oh... oh... wow, I thought it was... y-you're still up, kiddo?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"R-Really? Haha! Well now, seems like I'm not the only one."

"What are you doing?"

"Oh, just looking through some of the runic scripts your mother and I had been formulating. We've been trying to crack this one for months, yet the resonance of the residual energies always seem to fall short. Perhaps there might be a mistake in the vocabularied arrangements, or perhaps it lies somewhere in the intonations? Must it really be the intonations? Ach, this might take a long while—"

"I don't get it."

"Oh... oh right, of course of course, I mean— well, this is all a little bit beyond you, I g-guess. Then again, this is pretty much all beyond us, seeing as your mother's having so much trouble with it right now. I was thinking I try out a few of my own revisions. You know, get it off the checklist, lessen her workload. Oh, but don't tell her about it. She's pretty iffy about me helping her with these things."

"Okay."

"Knew I could count on you, bud. Say, since you can't sleep, wanna help me help your mother? You might learn a thing or two about this as well. Might be a little hard to handle, but you're a smart colt. You'd work your way around it."

"I can? Really?"

"W-Well, smart colt or not, there are still some strict limitations, per se—"

"But I'm seven already!"

"Haha! Right, right, of course! Still, this is something no other pony's done before! This is something really, really new. Something at a really experimental stage, so we just have to be really careful, that's all."

"Okay, Father."

"Alright. Now then, let's see here... I guess we'll start with the simpler ones. Back to the basics, it is. Now, we'd want to take this slowly..."
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"...slowly now, my child. No need to rush."

The night felt short, exasperatingly so. He had a restless slumber, though a restless slumber often constituted as a proper one in this day and age. Demons had snatched his respite away. Demons, howling from the past, interwoven with those shrieking in the present. They had been scratching at the palisades in full force, hunger unfettered. Thus came gunpowder, remaining ever prosperous still, along with the splattering of fiendish blood. He would like to think it had only been fiendish blood spilt.

The bubbly giggles coming from beneath the floorboards was a welcome sound, even if it had roused him. The manic splendor of the atrous daylight proved more ill-disposed, though he could only allay its notion with no more than an aggrieved sough. With a hefty sigh, the magician dragged himself off his rickety bed and lumbered towards the stairwell, perusing from within himself the grin he had kept away for this occasion, giving it a few practice runs before finally wearing it as he cantered down, guided by laughter most lucent.

"Th'murgan!!"

Thus and so, his grin was short-lived.

"Feyspeak, filly. You know very well how I acknowledge such irresponsible exclamations—"

No sooner that those words left his mouth were they ignored, for she immediately lunged towards him wrapped him in the tightest hug her small hooves could possibly even muster. Her infectious giggles simmered throughout the room, and though it never once reverberated in his heart, it certainly came triumphantly close. He glanced up at Zaidi, who made no effort of resisting her charms, smiling ear to ear at their little reunion of sorts, if one should even call it that. Heavens forbid anyone should. Nevertheless, he sighed and reattached his smile.

"How are you feeling?"

"Fah... f-fine! Fiiiinee~!" the filly responded with more a slur than an answer, giggling at his bewilderment.

"This one had miscalculated the dosage of coca berries used in her eclegme," Zaidi explained sheepishly, ignoring the filly swooning at him from below. "I had wished to alleviate her of the pains in her temple alongside treating her illness, but I had forgotten to make the proper adjustments and administered the volume of dosage intended for an adult pony instead. It is not lethal fortunately, though it did come with some unwanted, uh..."

"He looksh funny, Th'murgan— ooh, can I call you Thummytoo?"

"Side-effects," the zebra finished with an ample sigh. "It will wear off soon without need of further treatments, that I can assure you, but until then, well..."

"As long as her illness has been placated," the magician simply stated, wrinkling his snout down at the filly snugly hugging his hoof and muttering unremittingly matters most inane in her saccharine-laced voice. "Though I would concur it best if one of a more robust patience tend to her instead."

"Of course, of course. Filly, come this way."

"Thummytoo, thatsh pony's weird lines are waving at me~! Hi~!!"

"Run along now," he rasped good-naturedly, watching as the filly dopily teetered off with Zaidi's guiding hooves whilst giving an eloquent speech about how spectacular were the moiling of the tidal waves within the floorboards. His grin never quite returned to the prime it had, though he need not matter, for it would soon be shattered minutes later when he cantered outside for a bout of fresh air, only to find a certain gryphoness standing there.

Gwendolyn's stare was an unwelcome one, as gryphon stares go. There was a tension in her stance, evidenced from the tightening of her joints. Had he knew not of the circumstances between them, he would assume she will be swooping in for the kill. Knowing gryphons, it would be successful. Knowing him, he would certainly leave her with, at the very least, her bowels dismembered. He would have the heart to leave this world then, knowing his assailant would suffer for her crude actions, and with that cemented in his mind, he appropriated, with subtlety, a stance of his own to ensure it shall come to pass. Thus, their scythes were readied.

His reaper spoke first.

"How is she?"

Her reaper reciprocated.

"Quite fine."

"Good." Her irises sharpened. His swerved to her glinting talons. "Now then, have you decided?" she asked. "I suppose you had much to gain from your absurdly long period of rumination, thaumaturge."

A gruff snort. "I never bothered to. The comfort of a bed is luxurious. Shame you passed on the offer to revel in it, Gwendolyn, knowing how numbered our days would become."

"You shall succumb to despair, should you speak of it."

"And you shall too, should you choose to seek it out."

"What do you hope to gain from sheltering the filly, hmm?" the gryphoness sneered, stepping up to him. "Would you not believe firmly that waiting it out would not bring change? Have you not waited long enough already?"

"I do not wish to have the filly be paraded in her fruitless search on the flimsy basis of mere auguries, gryphoness."

"Since when do the schools of thaumaturgy question those of divination?"

"Since they failed to see the coming of Jörmungandr," he sternly proclaimed, eye to eye. "I fail to comprehend how they could predict the direction of the smallest winds, yet never fathomed the coming of this unholy catastrophe. Should they bore such knowledge and never sent the world their warnings, that only worsens their crimes against the world and all those who live in it. Thus, I refuse to think of it, and of them."

"Spite," she gnashed. "That is all you embody."

"And you, desperation," he rebuked in turn.

With a scowl, feathers ruffled in indignation and talons clawing at the dirt, Gwendolyn snapped her wings outward and took to the skies, leaving him to wrinkle his snout at the cloud of dust she stirred in her wake. Chewing on his frustration, the magician turned around to return to the zebrine abode, stopping only to sigh when he was met with the wide-eyed stare of Avery himself, standing there sheepishly as he clumsily stuffed his revolver back into the holster. "Sorry 'bout that," he muttered. "Force of habit. Certain things tend to happen when you hear Gwen like that."

"That does not surprise me at the slightest," the magician chided, eyes rattling at the sky. "Temperamental, that one. I find it impressive that she still walks this earth, particularly so when one considers her principles."

"S'pose so. She's tough to crack, that I can vouch for. It ain't something I wanna think about much, knowing her and the messes she gets into. By the way, heard from Zaidi the filly's up and about."

"Somewhat. The zebra is attending to her as we speak."

"That's good." Avery's gaze lingered at the front door, before he retraced his grin. "Was here to ask if you wanted a drink. Well, you and Gwen, though I'd say she needs some time to herself now. Whadaya say? My treat."

The magician could not smile larger even if he tried. "Certainly."

The journey to the tavern was long, if only because many a leper thought it a lucrative venture to crawl forward and grovel at their hooves, to which Avery gruffly chased aware with only a glare and a glint of his weapon. Some proved more of a struggle than others, though the sheriff, contrary to his berth, would always emerge successful with a blank shot skyward. Brazen as methods go, it nevertheless melded well among the many other peals blanketing the ambiance of Gloomshire. Otherwise, Avery was somberly silent throughout their journey, never letting out a beleaguered nicker, much less utter a word. Nevertheless, the magician appreciated the silence, for it had given him time to grasp the dismal straits this accursed hamlet was flailing in.

Gloomshire was, if anything else, a desolate bouquet, overgrown and overwrought with rapturous stench. The vines of cadaveric miasma swelled between the streets, blossoming even more so in the alleyways wherein the carcasses were sequestered, perhaps to be carted off to the charnels or stolen away to feed a hungry mouth or two. The magician stomached the stench as he did so with the putid ocean of gryphon bodies in the subterranean basilica, though he had to wrinkle a snout when confronted with the bodies of his kind, some certainly no older than the filly in his stead, as discerned from the several thinner, more petite sets of limbs protruding from between the gangrenous ziggurats. He could feel their hollow stares screaming down his nostrils, their lacerated jaws laughing and crying and singing songs of praise. Perhaps more than most, he could feel it creeping: the shadow they cast against the black sun, crawling forward, dribbling, aching for a nibble of hoof and horn. He could feel its hunger, and in turn, he hungered as well.

"Don't pay it any mind," the words of a kindred spirit shepherded him back, Avery having tossed a glance over at him. "Pretty sure they're doin' the same for us anyway, bless 'em. They keep to themselves more than anyone of us, and that's all we need to know of 'em."

"You think it not unnerving, their blatant display?"

"Folks here are a little more 'fraid of ending up in that crowd, if anything. Think too much about the dead, you end up being dead, so they say. You'd reckon we'd at least have the heart to bury them, don't you?"

The magician tightened his lips.

"Well, can't say I blame ya. There's a time where we still had the courage to do that, but we've lost it long ago. The dead had haunted us, now they walk among us, or rather, we walk among them. Really makes you think."

"About?"

"The filly. That she could change all of this." the sheriff chewed on the burnt air. "Don't get me wrong, I ain't picking sides here. Usually, I'd go with Gwen's instincts on many things, though this one seems a bit of a stretch. You're telling me a filly can change that?" he cocked his head towards the cairn of bodies, his brows furrowed. "Now, I don't know any of that gobbledygook witch tongue you speak of, but I know as much you can't change anything with just smoke and mirrors."

"I would refrain that you term it as mere smoke and mirrors." His frown softened. "Otherwise, I wholeheartedly agree. If one could say the same for that gryphoness, then perhaps sanity shall have a chance to prevail in this day and age."

"She's just... hopeful, that one."

"Hope will waste you away. Hope, this... antiquated sentiment... it promises only to bring drear and despair. Hope will bring no good to this world. She should know that. She, chief among us all, should know."

"Not sure what you're going off about, but if you ask me, us living folks need hope more than anything else right now," Avery retorted. "If we ain't got any hope left, this darn town, let alone the rest of us walking on this piece of dirt, would be long gone by now. We'd be heading out those gates and willingly march into that serpent's mouth one by one if we ain't got hope. Now, I don't know what sorta frou-frou ideas they put into your head in them magic schools, but I can say for sure that hope ain't what you make of it. Hope ain't such a bad thing to have."

"The doctrine of hope, like its contemporaries, guarantees not what we desire."

"Hope ain't biblical. Th'murgan. Hope is an earthly pleasure, if that's the road you're keen on going down. Hope is us, and we are hope, or at least, we hope to be."

"I honestly cannot fathom you common folk sometimes," the magician spat, much to Avery's chagrin. "Nevertheless, it is still an admirable stance, even if a demonstrably flawed one."

"Agree to disagree, then."

"Indeed."

The common drear had been tinctured with asperity, as the sheriff's visage would signify. Nevertheless, what grievances remained fluttered away a moment later when they finally arrived at the tavern. Wedged into a corner between dilapidated apartments, with brick walls splattered by blood and brine, shuttered windows flushed in raucous candlelight and, of course, a studded wooden door with ornate hinges, it loomed over this putrid town, this monolith of dereliction and debauchery. Nevertheless, one could not deny the warmth that blossomed alongside the blight was transcendent, inviting all whether it be for a good drink or a quick rest. Gracious was the tavern's light, even if constricted within a cocoon of flails and misericordes.

With the groan of the door came an eruption of rowdy yells and gnarly snarls, drowning out the lurching of chairs and the clunking of mugs. All around, the gathered hellions of Gloomshire heckled, hollered and hooted, scrounging and scourging as per their etiquette, or lack thereof. Slamming drinks, swinging daggers and singing ditties so dreadful, sometimes all at once, the notion of breathing the same rank stench as these miscreants was enough to make the magician gag. His eyes trailed across the dastardly crowd, all too inebriated to notice the contempt growling in his irises, before he found, in the corner, a vacant table, complete with a triumvirate of chairs.

Avery was already a step ahead of him, parting the sea as he shuffled across the room. There had been a few slurred growls and sharp calls from the crowd when he shoved his way through, though they were quickly silenced upon viewing his furtive glare. One could write it off as a perk of authority, but the magician knew better. Whatever it was might extend an explanation to Gloomshire's continued existence as well; he figured a town harboring such a grand, rampant pestilence of turpitude within the cusp of its palisades would have felled long ago. Could it be that even these greedy, mindless sycophants have a sense of order among their feeble ilk? He wrinkled his snout at that ridiculous thought.

"Ale for you too? Or are you one of those who took up them vows of sobriety?"

The magician scowled. "A mug, if you will."

A grin from the sheriff, before he glanced over his shoulder and whistled for one of the waitresses, who quickly scampered over. "Never thought you're the type to let loose. No offense." he snickered. "You heard him. Ale, a pair, straight from the cask."

With a hasty nod, she hurried off, returning within a minute with said frothy beverages in tow. No sooner than those mugs met the table did Avery swiped his up for a large gulp, crassly so when compared to his plaintive sips. The pang swirled in the magician's throat, rupturing into a soothing fuzz of captivating warmth that shimmered up to his cheeks, and with it, a bright satisfaction that culminated into the return of his earlier grin.

"Nothing like a good drink to calm the nerves, eh mage?"

The magician said nothing, though he found Avery's words impeccable.

"Just wish Gwen could join us. Now, I know you two have your differences and all, but she'd be a little less tense once she had a couple of swigs. You two could probably talk things out then."

"As propitious as that prospect may be, I believe wholeheartedly our exchange will remain persistently sour nonetheless. Perhaps it may even worsen, violently so, considering the gryphoness may lose her inhibitions."

"Or you might."

"I might," he spoke with a glint that had Avery chuckling. "Though I do hope you see to it not transpiring, for everyone's sake."

"Well, when you put it that way..."

"I do wonder, perhaps, of your acquaintance with the others." The magician leaned further into the table. "You seem to affiliate yourself with the company of the gryphoness and the zebra, seemingly more than most. Of course, that is but my current impression."

"Can't say I blame ya," Avery replied, continuing after another taking another gulp full. "Gwen's just someone I'm looking out for, in case she gets herself into hot water again. As for Zaidi, we go back quite a ways. Wasn't in the best of company, that one."

"So I've heard."

"Ah, so he got that out of the way. Well? Did it smooth things over between you two?'

"One could say that his company is preferred over Gwendolyn's."

"You ain't wrong 'bout that, unfortunately. She means well, but she... can be a mystery sometimes."

"And yet you seem to put a lot of faith in her."

"Her heart's in the right place, that one. It's just..." Avery sighed, staring down at his mug. "She has her way of doing things, and it attracts attention. The wrong kind of attention. It's a given that something always happens in town whenever she stops by, well-meaning as her actions may be. Can't say how many times I helped her out of a rut already. Not sure if it's gonna work this time, with the filly and everything."

"Do you believe it?" the magician asked, voice low. "That she may bring it all back to how it was?"

"Didn't we talk about this a minute ago?" Avery laughed it off, though the magician's insistent stare proved to be obstinate, drawing from him a sigh. "Ever the skeptic, eh? Do I think the filly can bring it all back to the way it used to be? Can't say."

"Surely you do not actually think it could be possible?"

"Like I said, can't say. Gwen might've actually struck gold with this one, she might not. I know it seems a little far-fetched, but when you have someone like her involved, it actually changes things a little. If it's just the filly, then I'd be doing some second guessing myself. With Gwen in the picture? Now, there's something you gotta keep an eye out for."

"You make it sound as if she is someone of remarkable prominence."

"The other gryphons 'round here mentioned she was of nobility, or at least in their service."

The magician guffawed. "Her, an aristocrat? Preposterous."

"Just a possibility, that's all. Does explain why she's always keeping to herself, don't you think?"

"We all have our secrets, Avery."

"Some secrets are more of a liability than others. Considering your predicament, I'm sure you're well aware of that, Th'murgan."

"Don't you dare."

"No one will hear us. Even if they did, they wouldn't want to pry," Avery made sure the venom simmered in the final word of that sentence, his stare increasingly wary as he surveyed their surroundings, hoof brazenly poised by his revolver. "Point I'm trying to make is that you're not so different from her, that's all. You both have secrets you wish no one else would learn. You both believe yourselves to be righteous, arrogantly so. Maybe once you two realized that, then you can at the very least have a bit of tolerance for each other."

"And why should you bother?"

"Because if it turns out that her hunch is correct — that the filly may actually bring about the change that was prophesied — then you two would be the one thing that'll stop it from ever happening."

"So you do believe in it after all."

"It's called hope, mage. It's called having something you wanna live for, you wanna fight for. It's the one thing that keeps us folks here in Gloomshire going, no matter how rough it gets. That is hope, this thing you so effortlessly cast aside. Maybe you should start from there, how about that?"

All that remained between them thereafter was silence.
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"Father?"

All that remained was silence.

"Father, are you there?"

Thereafter, just as well.

"Father, I need your help. I n-need your guidance."

Fortuitous, until the very last day.

"Father, I... I'm sorry... I'm sorry, okay? I..."

All that remained was a shadow.

And beneath it, the ashes.

"Forgive me, father. Please."
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Author's Note:

Finally, it's here.

Merry Christmas!