"Tell me, friend, do you like stories? You do? Aha, excellent! Sit then, get comfy! Our story is about a young batpony who plans to kill the princesses. It is a tale about trust, loyalty, friendship, and especially Fate. Listen well."
"In an older time, in an older place, in an Equestria that is both young and harsh...the thoughtless actions of others shall set one pony onto a path that can only end in death."
What makes Lunar Guards different from the others? Why are they often batponies? Has it always been that way? There is a strange old pony who might be able to answer your questions, and then answer those you haven't thought to ask yet. There is only one thing he needs to know: Do you like stories?
This is a story is an experiment of sorts, but in short it is broken into relatively smaller 'parts' rather than proper chapters.
Part 0 - Meet the Storyteller / ar gefn ei geffyl gwyn
It's cloudy night time in Ponyville, and you're on your way home from one of Pinkie's It's-A-Day-Before-Your-Birthday parties. The streets are quiet, only a few street lamps lighting your way, until you pass the local Lunar Guard who is busy snuffing them for the night. You continue on without a second thought, but as you turn to pass through the darkened center of town you begin to pick up your pace. Suddenly, you hear a voice. "Hey, hey.." It's old and quite raspy, as if the very lungs it came from were collecting dust. It sounds male. You stop, despite your better nature, and look around.
"Yes, yesss...you, right there," the voice hisses in satisfaction. "I see you are a creature of the night, much like myself, yes?" Something steps out of the shadows, and there is a break in the clouds, moonlight shining down over the streets. It is a pony, or seems to be; their entire body is hidden under a worn, raggedy cloak. You quickly assume they're some beggar or peddler, and begin to tell them you have no money with you. They laugh, though it sounds closer to wheezing than anything else.
"I do not seek your coin, my friend, have no fear! Allow me to introduce myself: I am known by many as Shyft, and I am the Storyteller. Not a storyteller, not some storyteller, no. I am THE Storyteller. No other can spin a tale like me. One might say it is my gift, hehe!" You still feel uncertain, unable to discern if this is a trick or not. The pony seems to notice this.
"You are still wary? I suppose I cannot blame you. There are strange things that roam in the night, and they are not just in my stories. But I assure you, dear friend, I mean no harm. Like you, I am out here alone, merely passing by, an old wanderer. Perhaps Fate has intended for you and I to meet, hm?"
You're not sure if they're asking this or telling you this, but you nod your head anyways. The pony laughs again, the raspy sound alone making your own throat feel dry.
"Yes, yes! Hee hee hee, Fate does work in mysterious ways, does it not? Here you are on a cloudy, moonlit night, out of the darkness comes a mysterious pony, and you are left to question whether you trust them, and how much. It's like something from a story, yes? Hm?" They laugh a little more, and somehow you manage to chuckle a little with them as you nod again.
"Heh heh, hmm...you know, now that I think of it, this /does/ remind me of a story! Tell me, friend, do you like stories? Oh what am I saying, of course you do! All ponies like a good story, so long as you know what they like. But what I have for you, my fateful friend, is a special story. Please, won't you sit with me and listen? I promise to not take long!"
They turn away from you before you can answer, climbing onto the steps of the Town Hall. You look to your right, at the path home, and tell yourself to just leave now. But something about this strange pony has caught your interest. It's late, you tell yourself, but they promised to not be long. Making up your mind, you follow Shyft to the steps to be met by his raspy laughter.
"Ahah! I see Fate truly has brought us together, hee hee! Now come my friend, please! Take a seat, right where you are. Make yourself comfortable~"
You find this comment odd, but odder still is the comfy pillow you find yourself sitting on! You look behind yourself in bewilderment, but there it is, a big red pillow. You look up at Shyft, who nods his head excitedly, whispering for you to sit. You decide it best to do so and get this over with, and so you sit. The pony laughs—something he seemed to do often—as he turns away, shuffling under his rags.
"Yessss, that's perfect. An audience of one, a special story for a special new friend! Tell me, does the name Luhnótt Vaktyff sound familiar? No? Well then, you're in for a treat I tell you, a real treat! Our story is about a young batpony, or Thestral, who schemes to kill the princesses and whose single decision could change the fate of our great Equestria! It is a tale about trust, loyalty, friendship, and especially Fate. I think we could relate, eh? Hee hee! But now then, let us begin.."
Shyft turns around seeming to cradle a small bag under his cloak. He sits and reaches down inside, seeming to rummage around through it with his hoof.
"Hmm...now where is--oh, there! Yes, yes. Now then, our story begins on a night very different from this one, thousands and thousands of years ago. Allow me to set the scene.."
You notice the moonlight fading as clouds cover it up, but then you notice that it seems far darker outside than before. Shyft doesn't seem to notice as he pulls his hoof out, but it's too dark to see what he has.
"It was Winter, the season of Death. The air was dry as tree bark, and stung with cold.."
He waved the hoof as if throwing something, and suddenly the temperature around you drops. You shiver as the stinging chill sinks into you, your breath visible as small cloud-like puffs. You watch as Shyft reaches down again, continuing as if he felt nothing.
"The stars were quite different than they are now, brighter and younger, as was our world. Younger, newer, and far less tame. The Winter Moon shall shed light for us on this cold eve so long ago.."
You see him throw a sparkling dust into the air, only for it to fly above you and become twinkling stars on a dark sky. Another toss, and a bright light bursts above you. Another look, and a pale full moon is there to meet your gaze. You look at Shyft with wonder, but already he is in his bag again.
"You and I are no longer in Ponyville, dear friend. We are far away, in a ancient forest whose name is lost to time. The snow is falling around us onto the frozen ground, and a strange fog hangs in the air. We are surrounded by trees, their dead, crooked branches just barely visible through the haze and starlight.."
Another wave sends a cloud of hazy smoke into the air, which swirls around you both until all the surrounding buildings, except for the Town Hall, are obscured. He begins to throw sticks out in different directions, but in their flight they twist and change, so what lands just beyond appears to be tall, dead trees. Snow begins to fall from the sky, small flakes catching on your fur before vanishing. Shyft stands there, facing towards you.
"This..is where our story begins. In an older time, in an older place, in an Equestria that is both young and harsh. And it is on this night, at this place, that the thoughtless actions of others shall set one pony onto a path that can only end in death. Listen well, my friend." Finally, he pulls out a small, glass ball. He raises it before quickly smashing it against the ground, and a blinding light suddenly consumes everything.
Part One - Storytime in Elsewhere / Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof
– Storytime in Elsewhere / Das Leben ist kein Ponyhof –
(Shyft narrates)
Long ago, the three pony races of ancient Equestria came together and put aside their differences to work together. A fourth race, however, was left out of this grand event; that race was the Thestral. The Thestrals, also oft called 'batponies' because of their bat-like appearance, were somewhat more primitive during those time, much more content to live by the ways of their ancestors rather than progress. The other races did not understand this, and looked down on them for it. Even so, thestrals existed everywhere across Equestria, living in groups. Most were nomadic by nature, preferring to move around every few nights. They could be found in the forests, in camps that could be as small as five huts, or as large as a small village.
In one of these camps lived a young thestral, only a colt at the time. This young pony had a coat as black as the night itself, and his mane and tail were silver, like the moonlight. He was dashing, to say the least, even at his age. His name, however, had not been given yet. You see, tradition said that when a young male thestral became an adult, his father gave him the name they had earned in youth. This young colt was soon to be a stallion, and then would he earn his name. His father, a strong hunter called Swift Wind, was perhaps as excited as his son about this soon-to-come event, and every night he told the colt of the grand feast they would have at his ceremony. Life could not have been better for our young thestral as he counted the days to this event.
But on a cold winter’s night, under the light of the Winter Moon, the life of this thestral would drastically change. He was in the hut he shared with his father when he first heard the shouting. It was not a voice he knew, and it was joined by a few others he also did not know. Then came the cry of one of the mares, then more shouting. Rushing out of the tent, the colt saw three strange stallions in the camp, each wearing golden armor, and one was shouting at Swift Wind, who was shouting back at them while standing over a mare huddled on the ground.
Before he knew what was happening, the sound of a blade was heard, and the colt’s father fell. More shouting came from the other thestrals, but none was louder than the young colt as he rushed to his father. Throwing himself in front of the attackers, they appeared confused, but then simply laughed and shouted, for all to hear, Praise the new alliance! Three pairs of feathery pegasi wings unfolded, and the attackers flew off into the night.
The young colt laid on his father’s still body and wept for what felt like hours, until one of the elders finally came to pull him away. In but a single night, a happy, promising life had taken a heavy blow. For the young colt, it was near devastating. Sadness quickly became anger, and anger gave birth to hate. That night beneath the Winter Moon, as the snow fell on his father’s dead body, the young colt swore to his kind’s gods that he would make the attackers pay. He would not kill them, however; he instead wanted to take what they held dear, as they had taken from him.
Over the next few years, the young colt grew into a fine stallion. He was strong as well as fast, an excellent hunter, and skilled at silent movement and flight. Others in the tribe called him the Quiet One, as the incident so many years ago made him become very reserved. The elders had tried to give him a true name at his ceremony, but he had refused it. This was unheard of, but, he had decided under that pale moon long ago that he would live nameless until those attackers had paid with blood. And his patience had granted him two perfect targets: so-called princesses that now ruled over the other races. His father’s death would be avenged in the death of these princesses, only then would he have his name.
Another year came to pass, at which the Quiet One decided he would wait no longer. With thanks to those who had looked after him over the years, he gathered his bedroll and only a few possessions, including an obsidian knife his father had made for him as a colt. It was with this he intended to kill the princesses, and he already knew how he would reach them. Since their kind had such a tendency to move from time to time, there were some places where the Earth ponies were more accepting of them, agreeing to sell and trade items. In these places, the stallion had listened closely to conversations, hoping to hear something that would be of use to his ultimate goal.
A week before, he’d heard mention of the princesses looking for strong stallions to join their Royal Guard. The sisters would be making an appearance, to inspect newly-inducted volunteers and visit citizens. This would be his best chance. And so, on a warm summer night when the moon was full, the Quiet One left his home and set out into the night, a dark and troubled soul who sought death. His destination: a small town to the north called Canterlot.
You wake up feeling dizzy and disoriented, and soon realize that you’re lying on the ground with something laid over you, keeping you warm. You sit up slowly and look around; you’re back in the center of town, in front of Town Hall. The big red pillow is still there, probably what your head was laying on, and you discover that the thing blanketing you is the tattered cloak of the storyteller, Shyft. However, the strange pony is nowhere to be seen.
Just as your mind begins jumping to conclusions, you notice something under the pillow. Pulling the cushion aside, you find a folded piece of parchment. Like any other pony who just woke up in the street after a strange and unexplainable experience with a mysterious storytelling pony, you unfold the paper.
Dear New Friend,
I am filled with joy to see that you enjoyed the story thus far! It has been ages since one listened so intently to one of my tales. It truly restores the faith in this old storyteller. You may have noticed I left my cloak with you. Keep it! I have many others, and I certainly didn’t want you sleeping in the cold.
Now, you may feel a teensy bit odd when you wake up. Dizziness, queasiness, sore throat, dry throat, seeing spots, having spots, things you touch suddenly gaining spots, breathing fire, being on fire, or a sudden craving for cauliflower can be minor side effects, but I assure you they will shortly pass. If any persist longer than an hour, then just give it a few days/months and I’m sure it will work its way through your system, eventually.
Meet me here at Town Hall tomorrow night if you’d like to hear more of the story. Bring some dead branches, too. And cauliflower.
Shyft
Part Two - Fate likes Hooded Strangers / Oma lehmä ojassa
– 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.